A VOICE 
FROM THE SILENCE 




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A VOICE 
FROM THE SILENCE 

Charles Philip Nettleton 

EDITED BY 

INA COOLBRITH 

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH AND POEM 
BY 

ISABEL DARLING 

APPRECIATION 
BY 

REV. HAMILTON LEE 



SAN FRANCISCO 
J 9 04 



T5 2.^n 



UBRASY Of OONtiKtii^^ 
Two Gooies KcsCtiveu 

DEC 27 1904 

I cuss C». XXfc No; 



COPY e. 



Copyright 

Alice L. Frickstad 

ig04 



PRINTED BY THE STANLEr-TAVUOR COMPANY, S. F. 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



CHARLES PHILIP NETTLETON. 

So the child was named when he appeared in his first 
home at New Haven, Conn., as the only son of George W. 
and Charlotte L. Nettleton. Lack of physical strength made 
him the object of continual solicitude and prevented the long 
school course, as well as a vigorous participation in the usual 
youthful sports and adventures, so his childhood was even 
less eventful than that of the ordinary New England boy. 

Instead of an actor he was a reader and a dreamer, sen- 
sitively shrinking into silence at a touch of ridicule or harsh 
criticism, longing desperately, at times, for a place among 
the world's recogfnized workers yet without the boldness, the 
endurance, the push and trample needed to win and keep 
what he prayed for and seemingly deserved. His hardest 
battles, like those of Bunyan's Pilgrim, were mental and 
spiritual, fought in silence and solitude, and their results 
offered to the world with diffidence because of his reverence 
for the works and uttered thoughts of that world's greater 
minds. 

No one knows when he began to write. The first pub- 
lished effort which has been traced was not original, but 
shows the effect of much reading. It consists of one-line ex- 
tracts from many authors, arranged in verse, and was found 
in a New York paper. 

Soon after, while he was still but a boy, the family was 
suddenly uprooted and removed from the Atlantic Coast to 
the Pacific, to a new and more arduous, but still unsatisfy- 
ing, life. In the intervals of out-door work, or at night, he 
studied by himself, grew familiar with deep thinkers, even 
learning the language of the Greeks, and wrote poems and 
short stories, essays or parables, for the "Chautauquan," "Inde- 
pendent," "Modern Culture," "Springfield Republican," 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



"Overland Monthly," "Philistine" and other periodicals, as he 
could, gradually giving up one hope and accepting another, 
turning from literature toward the ministry, while waiting 
for his opportunity. 

After nearly twenty years it came, and he entered the 
San Mateo School of Divinity, entered with the eager plunge 
of one who, though coming late, is determined to deserve the 
full recompense as only justice, because of the deferred call, 
his very soul crying out, "Oh, the little time there is!" Two 
short years of this and then the shadow overtook him and 
drew him away before the Lord of the Harvest had counted 
the sheaves and given him his portion of reward. 

We who might have helped him more but did not, may 
read again his pure, unselfish words and offer them as stimu- 
lus and comfort to others who may be called before the sun- 
set, before the reckoning time. Surely his work has not been 
wasted, surely it is to be continued. 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



CONTENTS. 

Biographical Sketch 3 

Of Our Friend 11 

An Appreciation 13 

The One Who Knows 15 

Recall the Good Alone 16 

"Nay, Ask Me Not" 17 

When Greece Is Named 18 

The Search 19 

The Vision Beautiful 20 

The Long Vacation 21 

At Night 21 

The Two Mysteries 22 

Glimpses 23 

What Am I, Love? 24 

Quatrains on Authors 25 

Edwin Arnold 27 

St. Augustine 27 

Alfred Austin 28 

William Blake 33 

Sir Thomas Brown 30 

Robert Browning 30 

Mrs. Browning 30 

La Bruyere 26 

Bryant 33 

Bobby Burns 28 

Byron 36 

Carlyle 31 

Confucius 35 

Dante 28 

De Quincey 36 

Emerson 25 

Epictetus 29 

5 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Quatrains on Authors — 

Firdusi 27 

Goethe 35 

Goldsmith 33 

Hawthorne 31 

Heine 32 

Homer 35 

Leigh Hunt 26 

Jean Ingelow 32 

Author of Job 35 

Keats 36 

Lamb 34 

Lanier 26 

Longfellow 33 

Marcus Aurelius 29 

Joaquin Miller 29 

Milton 30 

Montaigne 28 

Moore 34 

William Morris 27 

Omar Khayyam 27 

Plato 25 

Poe 34 

Pope 26 

La Rochefoucauld 26 

Christina G. Rosetti 34 

Rousseau 25 

Ruskin 31 

Saadi 25 

Sappho 36 

Shakespere 35 

Shelley 36 

Socrates 25 

Robert L. Stevenson 34 

Swinburne 32 

6 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Quatrains on Authors — 

Tennyson , . 31 

Theocritus 29 

Thomas a'Kempis 33 

Thoreau 30 

Paul Verlaine 32 

Villon 32 

Walton 31 

Walt Whitman 29 

Wordsworth 28 

The Seashore at Night 37 

Her Portrait 37 

California 38 

Dawn in the San Joaquin Valley 38 

The Play in the Vestibule 39 

Opposition 42 

The Old Story 42 

The Pilot 43 

Too Late 44 

To WilUam Watson, Author of "The Purple East" . . 44 

The Bookworm vs. Nature 45 

What Seekest Thou? 46 

The Greater Scale 47 

Before the Fire 47 

Easter 48 

Contentment 49 

Moderation 49 

Inscription for a Statue of Anacreon (Theocritus, Frag- 
ment XVI.) 50 

Charity 50 

My Age ... 50 

Maternity 50 

Love's Prooflessness 51 

A Valentine 52 

My Celestial Visitor 53 

7 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



The Poet 54 

The Hermit 55 

The Unpaid Ransom 57 

July Fourth 57 

Quatrains 58 

Beyond the Face 60 

The Change 58 

Doubleness 59 

Doubt 60 

Inconsistency 58 

Little Things 60 

On the Voyage 59 

The Poet . 59 

Poetry 59 

Silence 59 

The Sacred Reserve 59 

The Travel of the Soul 60 

Unselfishness 58 

When Time Has Ceased 60 

Wisdom 58 

A Vision (Dedicated, without Permission, to Stephen 

Crane) 61 

Mother Goose Revised 61 

Couplets 61 

The Two Gospels 64 

The Sight of a Soul 65 

For One Sweet Day 65 

His Song 66 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



THOUGHTS AND FASTENS. 

Thoughts 69 

Pastels 96 

Duty 96 

A Saint 96 

In the Shadow 97 

The Turning of the Leaf 98 

The Measure of the Draught of Life 99 

In the Night 100 

The Outcast 101 

Lost 102 

"If You Love Me, Lean Hard" 103 

Seraphael and Seraphita 105 

The Dance 107 

The House of Annihilation 108 

Through Men 109 

The Passing of a Man's Soul 110 

The Unbuilt Temple Ill 

The Worshipers 112 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



OF OUR FRIEND. 

Gone! And then Memory came 

And swiftly, with sad surprise. 
Gathered his voice and his name, 

His step and the flash of his eyes, — 
Saying, "All these were of him, 

But not for unanswering earth; 
Now, while your eyes are yet dim, 

Speak each unto each of his worth. - 

"Question his words yet again, — 

For they are not friends who forget- 
Question the strokes of his pen; 

Not one will you find to regret. 
Young, was he not, to be done 

With all that it means but to live; 
Young, all the good to have won 

This hurrying world had to give? 

"Life is 'a feast or a fast?' 

His life was a longing, a light 
Shaded for fear of the blast. 

Yet shining afar in the night. 
Life is 'a song or a moan?' 

His life was an anthem, a trill; 
He was a wind-harp, alone. 

Breathed on by the Infinite Will. 

11 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



'So, in the days that are long, 

Though tempted to listen and weep. 
Join in the reverent song, 
Not dead, nor yet hushed into sleep.' 



Tenderly Memory turned 

And locked in our innermost heart 
That which each one of us earned 

While thus he was walking apart. 

—ISABEL DARLING. 



12 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



AN APPRECIATION, 

The author of the work which this book contains was 
remarkable both for the character of his life and for the 
quality of his thought. His mind lies open, to a certain ex- 
tent, in the pages that follow, but the nobility of his soul and 
the remarkable fidelity with which he met the varied duties 
which called forth his activity, can be known only to those 
who were familiar with the man himself in his home and in 
his intercourse with his associates. An intimate and close 
acquaintance of more than fifteen years enables the writer 
of these lines to appreciate the nature of the difficulties, the 
struggles, the discouragements, the aspirations, the attain- 
ments, the successes, which made up the human existence of 
his friend, Charles P. Nettleton, and of none, as it seems to 
him, could words of truer praise be spoken than of the son, 
the brother, the man who offered up all that he had and was 
upon the altar of duty, of filial affection and friendship. 

The chief desire of Mr. Nettleton, for many years, had 
been to devote himself to the service of God in the sacred 
ministry. At last the way seemed opened, but the call was 
to a higher service, and to those who knew him best, as they 
think of his departure, there comes a remembrance of the 
words of the Master, which seem so appropriate for such 
a one: "Well done good and faithful servant; thou hast been 
faithful over a few things, I will sit thee over many things; 
enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." 

— Rev. Hamilton Lee. 

Berkeley, Cal., October, 1903. 



13 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



%ot^ o^tw i^t boor of f0g 6earf ; 

(Heac3 ouf as 3 reac3 unfo gou; 
j^anb \\\ 3»nb fef ub ^jonber a|)art 

5n f^e gforg of queef for f^e f rue. 



14 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



THE ONE WHO KNOWS. 

The day is dead, and now, before 

Life's tender nurse, the night, bestows 

On me her transient death, once more 
I seek the One who all things knows. 

My Father, pardon weakness, sin! 

Out of the pathway still I go. 
And when at night I look within 

My shame, my comfort is. You know. 

You know my every need and dream, 
You know each doubt, delight and woe; 

The passion strong and vague extreme 
Of body, mind and soul, You know. 

The careless word that hurt a friend. 
The deed of shame that pleased a foe. 

The secret thoughts none apprehend^ 
In sorrowing joy I feel You know. 

I cannot hate the thing abhorred 

By You enough to leave it; no, 
Nor even pray aright; but. Lord, 

The heart You made, that heart You know. 

The spotless love and prudent brain 
And mighty hand, that reach down low 

And gather golden human grain, 
I lack; the bitterness You know. 

The waves of pain and grief swell high; 

Doubt's piercing winds forever blow 
And challenge hope itself, but I 

Will conquer with the thought. You know. 

15 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Pure peace, deep joy, the swelling heart 
Is powerless to prove, the glow 

In friendship's eyes — how dumb the art 
Of gratitude for these! You know. 

The miracle of human breath 

I gratefully receive, and oh! 
The mystery of human death 

I joy in knowing that You know. 

Of all the loving souls who smile 
And weep and bear with us below. 

Who knows us perfectly the while? 
O, happy are we that You know. 

My faith in such a God increase, 
And prayer be wise and patience grow! 

I close my eyes in love and peace. 

Because You know, because You know. 



RECALL THE GOOD ALONE. 

Behold, there is a brighter side to all 

The memories of life! Put grief away. 
Declare a truce with troubles great and small, 

And wisely join me while I bravely say, 
"Recall the good and let the evil die." 

Thy gold is now a thing of nought? But still 
Thy soul and God are left! And is it nought 

That once the Lord of Life your hands did fill 
With many pleasant things, in deed and thought: 

Recall the good and let the evil die. 

16 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



The friend you thought so true is false? .But still 
He once was true! The dear old days were light 

With friendship pure, and on her holy hill, 

Hand clasped in hand, you clearer saw the right. 

Recall the good and let the evil die. 

The one loved best has gone before? But still 
Be glad for her sake, now at rest and glad. 

Exalt thy happy days, and let them thrill 

The heart allowed to think of joy once had. 

Recall the good and let the evil die. 

Behold, there is a brighter side to all 
The memories of life! Sit calmly down 

In the sun of memories sweet, where still may fall 
Upon thy soul the touch of some dear crown. 

Recall the good and let the evil die. 



"NAY, ASK ME NOT." 

Nay, ask me not, sweet love, the reasons why 

•I love thee! 
Can words avail these words to amplify, 

"I love thee?" 

Why, if each star above could speak today, 

(I love thee!) 
And reasons were revealed with every ray, 

(I love thee!) 

Love still would be a miracle, indeed, 

(I love thee!) 
Unfolded now — or never — in the creed 

"I love thee." 

17 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



O look within, where love is lord and king, 

(I love thee!) 
And ask no more for causes while I sing 

"I love thee!" 

Let heartless sages analyze that vow 

"I love thee!" 
In wiser ways I'll tell thee why and how 
I love thee. 



WHEN GREECE IS NAMED. 

How richly young and full of joyous dreams 

Our latter day of heavy life appears 

When Greece is named! Snapped is the strand of years, 
And quick the pulse of spirit bounds and seems 
At one with natural life beside fair streams, 

With gay Theocritus, with Sappho's tears. 

With Homer, Plato, Poesy's high peers. 
Who lived for beauty and her sister themes. 

As on a road I know, a sudden breeze 

Of warmer air than common, at one place 
Sweeps down the hill with sweeter, balmier breath. 

So comes the thought of Greece; lo, jubilees 

Of wildwood beauty, statured strength and grace. 
Spontaneous songs, which yet rule us and death! 



18 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



THE SEARCH. 

Lo! even as one may dream of space, 
And turn at night his face 
Unto the heavens and speed his strongest thought 
Beyond, beyond, past stars, and evermore beyond 
Past stars and systems, till 
He feels a solemn chill 
Strike down his finite power and will, 
And make the soul despond 
In that vast boundless, awful space that God has wrought. 
While close beside him, to and fro 
God's waves of space around him flow, 
So man looks up to Him. 
He dwells beside us, ay, and in us evermore. 
But we forget Him often, choosing to explore 
All space until we touch the rim 
And find, perchance. His Face. 
And yet, 
I look around, and know that He is near; 
I stretch my hand and lo! a swift embrace; 
I question — hark! within me, loud and clear, 
A voice that never dies; 
A voice that testifies 
My soul is part of Him, although it wander far. 
Shall I regret 
The finite mind, the failure dead 
His boundlessness to bound. 
When perfectly my little cup is filled with Him, 
And daily I am led 
By the same law of love that rules each distant star? 



19 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Shall I explore the vast profound 
Where countless stars and systems sing His praise, 
When clearest sight is still too dim 
To reach the outer rim 
Of my own infinite soul, so strong and yet so weak? 
Though failure pass success one still must seek 

The wisdom of all ways 
That urge the soul to flight and press it back with light. 
Lost is our sight 
Within His endless space, 
And, lost in loving, infinite light. 
The soul that seeketh God finds Him in every place. 
Yet may not find His Face. 



THE VISION BEAUTIFUL. 

In faltering words of prayer a grace I sought; 
I longed the vision beautiful to see; 

that my Savior's glance might rest on me 
And in my heart the change of love be wrought! 

The answer to my prayer was swiftly brought; 

1 saw — ah, passing bright! — the way that He 
Had marked among the shards and thorns that we 

Might follow there, by His example taught. 

O path illumined by my Savior's feet! 
I'll follow where it leads, and love shall give 
The full significance to duty; meet 
Shall be the humblest task; my joy to live 
And walk the path His weary feet have trod, — 
Content to find therein approach to God. 

20 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



THE LONG VACATION. 

No sweet vacation-day may be 

Just now for me, 
Although I slow and wearily 

Go to and fro. 

Would I could rest! Long years ago 

It seemed that so, 
Alone, could I still courage show 

For duties nigh. 

But wait! Since Time my soul would try 

So utterly, 
I'll mock him, scorn him and defy; 

For comes a morn 

When of his strength Time shall be shorn. 

When will be born 
Vacation-day without a thorn! 

Then rest may I. 



AT NIGHT. 

A truce to time and all humanity! 
No longer slave to life the passionate, 
One's soul may pause a space and celebrate, 

In silence, freedom from the litany 

Of day's tumultuous froth, half blasphemy 
And wholly crude, and feel night re-create 
The weary world and wearier soul. Love, fate, 

Life, death, — at night we almost hold the key. 

21 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



With tranquil eyes the starry sentinels 
Of heaven look down, and whisper of that day 
Whose perfect round forever dawns anew. 
With tranquil eyes, where faith the loyal dwells, 
We answering look up and calmly say, 

"All's well, all's well, my heart, — so, heart, be true." 



THE TWO MYSTERIES. 

We know not what it is, dear, this sleep so deep and still — 
The folded hands, the awful calm, the cheek so pale and chill; 
The lids that will not lift again, tho' we may call and call, 
The strange white solitude of peace that settles over all. 

We know not what it means, dear, this desolate heart-pain. 
This dread to take our daily way to walk in it again; 
We know not to what other sphere the loved who leave us go, 
Nor why we're left to wonder still, nor why we do not know. 

But this we know: our loved and dead, if they should come 

this day. 
Should come and ask us, "What is life? " not one of us could 

say. 
Life is a mystery as deep as ever death could be. 
Yet, oh, how sweet it is to us, this life we love to see! 



28 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



GLIMPSES. 

Set before thy high-born soul 
Nothing smaller than the Whole. 
Earth is great but thou art greater. 
Wouldst thou be her all-translator? 

Pass behind her veiled face: 
Hidden deeply lies the grace 
Thou art kin to, waiting thee, — 
Grace of love and purity. 
Parts are parts, but thou art one; 
Satisfy thyself with none, 
When thy high soul, infinite. 
Throbbing, bounding, will admit 
Songs of beauty from all spheres, 
All eternity's full years, 
And the Master! 

Good is one, 
Soul of beauty and bright sun 
For thy doubt and agony; 
Come thou home, mortality! 
Child, who vivid visions sees 
Of pain's possibilities, 
Visions mirrored from the past. 
Striking pale the face aghast, 
Thinkest thou that not for thee 
God ordained a jubilee? 
Brother, love! Great love within 
Killeth pain and covereth sin. 

All things call thee to rejoice; 

Hast thou heard their still, sweet voice? 

Be their meaning well inferred, 

For these voices are as seeds; 
Follow, if thou once hast heard! 

Deeper, deeper than all creeds, 
83 



A rOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Broader far than sages thought, 
Higher, holier than have sung 

Poets, by their rapture taught, 
Is the soul, that still is young 

After speech has set a bound, — 
Young, but old from wandering. 

Nature's mountain-tops await. 
Half explored, her equal mate; 
Glories infinite surround 

Each and all; they cannot bring 
Light to those who love the part 
More than God's great circled Heart. 
Nature, Beauty, Good, enthrone 
High the soul that knows its own. 



WHAT AM I. LOVE? 

What am I, love, that thou shouldst turn to me? 
Thou, gifted rarely with the power to thrill 
The hearts of men with song; thou, with high skill 

The imprisoned soul in instruments to free; 

Thou, eloquent in tongues and with the key 
Of wisdom in the painter's art at will. — 
With other gifts and knowledges that fill 

Thy life? Can love descend to me from thee? 

One gift, one little gift is mine, to bring 
And offer in exchange for what thou art, — 

Some trifling power, some Httle song to sing. 
I equal thee in one thing only. — heart. — 

And love thee for thyself alone; if thou 

Wilt so love me, repeat, renew thy vow. 

84 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



QUATRAINS ON AUTHORS. 

Emerson. 

He heard the morning stars together sing 

God's song of light and joy supernal, 
Translated part in language faltering, 

Then joined them in their chant eternal. 

Socrates. 

"Corrupter of the youth." O fools and blind! 

He was your one great Polar Star to Truth, 
A bright immortal light of soul and mind. 

That hemlock killed not him, but your own youth. 

Plato. 

Ask not if Socrates or Plato speak, 

When such white light would glorify a score. 
Each shines a star on Wisdom's highest peak — 

Or as twin stars! Could one reflect such lore? 

Saadi. 

Blend wit and grace, and with a silver tongue 
Laud holiness and wisdom — yea, with speech 

Like wedding-bells ring to a bridegroom young, — 
Then hang thy head and thee let Saadi teach. 

Rousseau. 

He dared to lay himself full length upon 
The grim dissecting-table and with keen 

Unwavering scalpel bare the flesh and bone. 
Do human nature's charms redeem the scene? 

85 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Sidney Lanier. 

Nay, Pan is dead and him it cannot be! 
Yet from the marshes — O, what jubilee, 
Attempered with the years, rings out from one 
Whom music-lovers name Song's worthy son! 



Leigh Hunt. 

I hear a pleasant rumor, loving friend. 
That various high paths may claim thee; good! 

And fame go with thee! for, if just, they blend 
With that God-given gem on brotherhood. 



La Bruyere. 

A princely courtier in this palace where 

King Truth, Queen Beauty, both are bought and sold. 
Hearts loyal please him; knaves had best prepare 

To be most neatly pinked with rapier bold. 

La Rochefoucauld. 

A one-eyed diver in the heart's deep sea. 

Who set in gold the worthless bones he found. 

The setting gives them worth — or can it be 
Self-love reads on — because our friends they wound! 

Pope. 

Truth's homeliest home of body is here, with rhyme 
And rhythm as hands to fend the touch of time, 
And brilliant sparkling eyes to charm our wit. 
But — but — the heart was left outside of it! 

26 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



William Morris. 

A blithe romancer, happiest in the past! 

Brave healthy knight of beauty, chief of needs! 
Up, friends, and joy in the magic ever cast 

On wholesome life by wholesome natural deeds. 

Edwin Arnold. 

One, ever one and beautiful is Light, 

Though bearing many names. Love thou each ray. 
And warm thy sluggish soul with some new rite. 

Light calls to prayer and actions pure: Obey. 

Firdusi. 

Chivalrous, smooth, pathetic, sweet, sublime! 
The balanced bearing in the mosque of time 
Of one who was to song a true high-priest, 
Proves well his title, "Homer of the East." 

Omar Khayyam. 

Dwell here three sad sweet Spirits: Perfumes born 
Of fading Rose-leaves, visions of The Thorn 

Behind each Flower of Joy in Life's Bouquet, 
And one long Sigh we make too oft to scorn. 

St. Augustine. 

He walked with God, to our behoof and good. 

The reedy staff of reason, lo! it grows 
In his hand till the soul is strongly wooed, — 

When love and faith still higher ways disclose. 

27 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Dante. 

Deep bites life's acid on the heart and lo! 
His world and ours is graved thereon. Would he 
Have all forsworn that solemn Comedy, 

The price being love, peace, tranquil death? Ah, no! 

Alfred Austin. 

We loved you once, dear Shakespere, Wordsworth, all 
Who really heard The Sisters' mystic call, — 
But now we bow to genius! Ere you frown, 
Pray take your opera glasses and look — up. 

Wordsworth. 

With deep love-opened eyes he paced the bound 
Of God's fair garden — flower, field and sky; 

Yet joyed the most to feel his God surround 
Mankind, the fruit, with immortality. 

Montaigne. 

Wide learning, interest calm in all man's deeds. 
Deep insight into king's and peasant's heart, — 

All these have others also; he succeeds 
Because himself is limned with artful art. 

Bobby Burns. 

The douce and unco' guid — Old Clootie tak' 'em. 
While couthie Bobby lilts a healsome sang! 

"The dearthfu' Lord be thankit that he spak' 'em," 
Says ilka heart that isna wholly wrang. 

S8 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Theocritus. 

Come bathe in Grecian sunshine warm and sweet. 

Here shepherds pipe their lays to maidens true, 
And false; fast beats the pulse; the Graces meet; — 

Come breathe the summer's sweet bouquet anew. 

Marcus Aurelius. 

A heathen? God have mercy on the saints! — 
Adulterous David, Solomon, who broke 

God's sternest laws, weak Peter, with three taints, 
Abram, liar! — Marcus, loan these men thy cloak. 

Epictetus. 

A stoic? Ay and more, — a child of heaven, 
(Or may I never reach it!) who, as sure 

Of God and right as self, in holy Steven 
Outpoured his life to make men strong and pure. 

Joaquin Miller. 

A salty breeze of springtime, fresh and strong, 
The Western World blows through its Golden Gate. 

God's earth is young and fair and nothing wrong. 
Save when man turns to worship gold, and hate. 

Walt Whitman. 

Enter, who love broad sympathy, the fresh 

Sweet air of woods, the heart of faith and joy — 

Read Whitman. If we glimpse forbidden flesh, 
Receive the good and pass the slight alloy! 

29 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Thoreau. 

Why do the trees confide in him? and why 
The squirrels, ay, the timid fish, that brave 
Freely their lives? He loved them! and love's wave 

Bore wealthy ships, that now at anchor lie. 

Browning. 

A rugged road he hewed up Wisdom's mountain, 
Where steady brain and feet alone may follow; 

But star-grown fruits and many a crystal fountain 
Reward the wondering souls that leave the hollow. 

Mrs. Browning. 

The tense cord only yields to music's thrill. 

Pain compassed soul and body for a time, 
Baptizing after-love with light, until 

She rang life's carillon in deathless rhyme. 

Milton. 

He stands a massive marble monument, 

Pre-eminently sculptured in relief 
With vast adventurous dreams magnificent, 

And stately pictures of man's joy and grief. 

Sir Thomas Browne. 

O bishop in disguise, come, dispossess 

Our souls of paltry aims and narrowness. 

And teach the writers of the present time 

That "beauty" may with Christian "duty" rhyme. 

30 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Hawthorne. 

The mosses will not grow upon his tales 
Until life's sweet and minor tones we hate; 

Oblivion will not still the woful wails 
Of one sad wrong while any wrong's innate. 



Tennyson. 

O kingly brain and knightly hand! We bow 
Anew to virtue when with beauty crowned, 

And love fair beauty most on virtue's brow. 
Full well we love when these, with faith, abound. 

Ruskin. 

The art of life demands a lifetime's art, 
With art and beauty, work and duty filled; 

While earth's rude mart needs most the unselfish heart 
Skilled in love's art, and by high virtues thrilled. 

Carlyle. 

Be bold for battle, brothers! Sin and bale 
Abound here hand in hand, and damned be he 
Who blinds his eyes. God watches! Hope, and be 

Bright heroes, clad in God and Good for mail. 

Walton. 

Ah, ha! the friend, the field, the gentle stroll. 
But most the happy contemplative goal 
Of fishing! Ah, that bait of pleasure fine 
No honest gentleman will e'er decline. 

81 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Swinburne. 

The evening, not the morning, stars heard he; 

The music of his morbid jubilee 

Enraptures and rebuffs in equal parts. 

Yet all love him who loves love's joys and smarts. 



Villon. 

The heart of song is song about the heart; 

The salt of song is sure the shade of death. 
Come, sing, and love the body till we part. 

For where are they who swayed worlds with a breath? 

Paul Verlaine. 

Love, and bewildering reign of the senses, 

Pain, and the mystical reason for all, 
Music, like charity, veiling offences, — 

And Satan a-grin at his beautiful thrall! 

Heine. 

A stormy petrel, resting, sleeping never, 
That circles homeless o'er the restless waves 

Of bitter time, yet swift to catch and sever 
From gloomy clouds the one sweet drop that saves. 

Jean Ingelow. 

The holiest shrine vouchsafed for us to know 
Is some pure woman's heart. Our hearts bend low 
Before the snow-white thought, the star-keen light 
Which is herself, revealed with graceful might. 

32 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Thomas a'Kempis. 

am but night; Lord Christ, be Thou my Light! 

I am but weakness; guard me or I fall! 

and the world are hopeless; purge our sight! 

Light, Strength and Hope,— Thou, Christ, art All in All! 



Longfellow. 

No dashing eloquence, no strange wild strain 
That fires the blood as warriors storiji a town; 

He comes as comes the gentle steady rain. 
Refreshing each dry field where it sinks down. 

Bryant. 

He is a forest-walk on some fair hill. 
Where utter peace may nurse the weary breast; 

Sweet flowers kiss the mold beside a rill, 
And shyly steal the sunbeams in to rest. 

Goldsmith. 

How great is great simplicity, how dear 
To minds aweary of the tangled maze 
That dreamers, wise but narrow, on us blaze! 

The deep may still be fair and calm and clear. 

William Blake. 

He was a breeze from the eternal field 
Where perfect souls, young evermore, attend 

The flowers of God's thoughts, and sometimes yield 
A fragrant breath to souls they would befriend. 

83 



./ J' 01 C K F R O M r II E S I L E NCE 



Lamb. 

To genial wit and wisdom drain the wine, 

(The brave heart gains the Hon's honey sweet) 

And murtnur "Thank the gods for every Hnc!" 
(But oh. the ridged way and stinging sleet!) 

Christina G. Rosetti. 

Most fair is chiUlhood. passing fair the bright 
Sweet show each passing day yields — and destroys. 

But all — ah, all is vanity and blight 
Beside the Better Country's perfect joys. 

Poe. 

Lo, 'tis a gala night, with cypress-breath. 
And these be wooded isles of life and death. 
Where nuiflled spirits chant a dirge of time. 
Melodious, wild, and morbidly sublime. 

Robert I.. Stevenson, 

With boyish shouts he cries out for the sea. 
With manhood's force he makes a clear-cut way, 
With womanly winning grace he lights the day. 

And round his feet we cluster breathlessly. 

Moore. 

O harp of Erin, isle of wit and woe! 

O har|"> and heart of music, love and tears, — 
The winds of life have rarely to and fro 

Swept o'er a quicker heart through all the years! 

84 



A VOICK FROM Till': SILENCE 



Confucius. 

How paltry sound the nations' parting names, 

When one great language falls from each great mind! 

Beside all prophets pure Confucius flames, 
Who laws of love and duty well divined. 

Homer. 

Lo, god-like men and men-like gods, who bend 
Before the throne of beauty's daz/ling queen! 

Yet greater is their great creator, friend 
To all who glory in all passions keen. 

Shakspere. 

Astronomers reel back from endless space, 
And muse in awe upon the countless stars; 
So, here, man's infinite life no limit mars. 

And each himself may study face to face. 

Goethe. 

Where dwelleth knowledge? I will seek it out, 

And flash white lightning through its years-dried rind . 
That one may zone with light nature and mind 

'Tis fit that women weep, I have no doubt! 

The Author of Job. 

Set he the world's high-water mark of true 

And living poetry. Simple, profound, 

Sublime, the inner as the outer bound 
Of man's great soul is greatly held in view. 

30 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Byron. 

For him God freely poured the wine of song 
And sorrow. Rich, poor, sensitive, unwise, 
He reckless sang his heart and scorned disguise. 

His wealth is ours, his faults to God belong. 

Keats. 

"In His own image God created man;" 

And there be some, like this immortal youth, 
Who bear the Spirit's stamp and hear, in truth. 

Unheard sweet melodies Saturnian. 

Shelley. 

A man? A star, a lark near heaven's shut gate, 
Singing with broken wing. I think that when 
His glorious songs and dreams all left his pen, 

That gate he doubted so they opened straight. 

Sappho. 

Alas! Time's tangled tree-tops caught but few 
Short flashes of thy silver moon of song 

For us, and yet those broken beams strike through 
Our thrilling thoughts until they seem a throng. 

De Quincey. 

"Of making many books there is no end," 
Nor lack of loving readers when the fire 
Of utter genius makes them to suspire. 

We honor self in calling thee our friend. 

36 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



THE SEASHORE AT NIGHT. 

I hear the pulse of Father Time, I see 
The stormy surge of life akin to mine, 

The spirit of the sea locks arms with me 
And whispers of his peace beneath the brine. 

Above, where softly walks the moon, is peace; 

Below, where sleep the dead, is sweet release; 

Between, a worthless soul that well may cease. 

The roar, the roar, the booming ceaseless roar! 

And yet, the silence underneath the frush! 
I reach my arms, I reach my soul. Yet more 

And more, O brother mine, of cry and hush 
Speed in on me from the infinities deep; 
For I, too, seem a sea and I have keep 
Of panting thoughts and hopes that will not sleep. 

I too reach up a shore not yet for me; 

I too sob out by night and day my breath. 
And pauselessly my beating heart, unfree 

From time and tears, awaits the calmer. Death. 
Moan on, O brother, moan, yet sing of peace 
Beneath thy throbs; there comes — there comes release, 
When restless surge of sea and life shall cease. 

HER PORTRAIT. 

As on some distant star you gaze at night. 
And wondering, low in silence bend your soul 

Before that radiant miracle of light. 

Too rare and far for you to read its scroll. 

So gaze upon this portrait and be dumb — 
To you it speaks as spoke the distant star. 

Careless and cold; to me — to me there come 
Sweet messages of love from realms afar. 

37 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



CALIFORNIA. 

Five thousand years the cry of "Westward!" rose 
Within the ardent restless Aryan race, 
Five thousand stormy years they sought the grace 

Of some Hesperian land of pure repose. 

At last God greatly smiled: here ever glows 
The sun of peace on man's and nature's face. 
The crowning crown is gained — beyond is space — 

And all that man may ask this land bestows. 

Rest now, O weary race, forevermore. 

'Tis afternoon, and wanderings are done. 
The Lord of Life still beckons on before 

To his own land of peace beyond the sun. 
But California ends the earthly quest: 

'Tis afternoon; joy, and lie down and rest. 



DAWN IN THE SAN JOAQUIN VALLEY. 

The stars' song died away; Sierras' snows 
Faint-heralded the day's departing sleep. 
And earth was infinitely still. Deep, deep 

The stillness pressed, until I felt it close 

Night's sombre page and the soul's more sombre woes. 
Now clearer, clearer o'er the snow-crowned steep 
The lambent spirit drew, and swift its sweep 

Without awoke within hope's joyous glows. 

So calm, so pure! and still the brightness grew. 

So holy earth, I, too, grew holy then. 
And breathed God's air without, within, anew. 

So dazzling bright! I gazed intent, as when 
A heaven-born soul bows first before The Flame, 
And I, too, bowed to where His angel came. 

88 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



THE PLAY IN THE VESTIBULE. 

I saw a play within a vestibule, 

Or ere the lights revealed the room beyond. 

A motley crowd strode up and down the stage. 

Fair wide-eyed children lisped their parts, old men 

And women wandered through the shifting maze, 

Half-carelessly, and both were elbowed by 

Strong men and maidens, who declaimed so loud 

Their varied lines I Ustened, smiUng. Some, 

Too conscious of rich robes and prominent parts, 

Played ill, for with a selfishness extreme 

And pride that sneered at heaven itself, they stalked 

With arrogance upon the rights of men, 

Who through sweet gentleness or timid hearts 

Gave place to force, content to yield their rights 

That discord fiercer still might not destroy 

The great effect desired. Some marred the play 

By spending all their breath in scorning, yea, 

In cursing others; some were ignorant 

And stumbled in each gesture, word and act, 

And some, far too intent on watching close 

Their fellow-actors, or engrossed in dreams 

Of happy leisure on the morrow, failed 

To heed their time, and would not win, I thought, 

Full payment for their hours. 

Here fainted one, 
O'ercome with secret pain; but rarely stooped 
A soul to aid, though feebleness in one 
Made all the others weaker. Selfishness 
And pride ruled every step of many there, 
And, oh, it was most pitiful when base 
And hateful parts won most the loud applause 

39 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Of men and women! Moans and groans arose 

From souls crushed ruthlessly aside and robbed 

Of rightful place upon the stage, until 

It seemed a tragedy as far below 

The lowest hell as hell is far from heaven. 

And still the drama surged. 

From these I turned 
And gladly watched the worthy players, those 
Who sought the meaning of the author, then 
Put all their heart and soul and body in 
Love's labor of interpretation. Love, 
Indeed, the key-note seemed of all that strange 
And mystic plot, for watching these wise souls 
Give love for dross, seek love beneath each mask. 
And urge its growth, declaring it the one 
True binding law which quickened all the play 
And crowned the end with peace, I dared believe 
That they had caught the motive of the piece, 
That they alone revealed that play to be 
No dream of passing worth, but full of ends 
Most weighty. These redeemed it! 

Various some, 
Clad in the common guise of laborers 
And playing most in pantomime, upheld 
The honor of the stage so gloriously 
I clapped my hands and wished them higher place, 
While here some fragile form drew from me tears. 
So nobly did she bear her through the stress 
And storm of acting. There, again, a man. 
Half clad, shamed scores of weak or coward souls 
To braver ways, and these reached out and passed 
The blessing on to others. Children knew 



40 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Instinctively the spirit of the piece, * 
And prompted often men and women who 
Grew faint and near forgot their lines because 
The air was stifled. 

Each part, high or low. 
Or pure or base, all interwoven was 
With marvelous scale of parts; yet oftentimes 
I saw an actor flinch and sigh, and then 
Retire beyond my gaze. Pause there was none; 
Recruited from what ranks I could not see, 
The place was filled. 

Oh, furious and wild 
Swept on that mystic play, that awful play, 
That tragedy! And yet it seemed a thing 
Whose purpose it would joy the heart to know. 
Since wondrous God-like love in many hearts 
Abounded. — Let me not forget to speak 
Of certain there for whom I trembled, lest 
The drama fail in purpose through them; souls 
Who gave their time and strength that others might 
Achieve their ends, the while their own dear parts 
Seemed all forgot. Shall I win credence when 
I swear that sombre drama glowed with light 
Because of silent souls like these? 

I gazed 
With ardent smiles and tears until, perplexed 
With many a doubt, I turned away mine eyes 
To know the reason of this play. One flash — 
The Author — He the Lord of Life — a hope — 
A cry for greater light — then darkness. Then 
I had the reason, all my soul could grasp! 
He is, He, Lord of Life and Love, and guides 
The World, eternity's dark vestibule. 

41 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



OPPOSITION. 

"Can this be well, that day by day the swell 
And surge of troubles, griefs and doubts return 
To curse the heart which hoped some day to earn 

The joy and peace that with true conquerors dwell? 

I face each hour the thoughts no thoughts can quell. 
The wearying tasks whose good I never learn. 
Nor dare to hope, howe'er the heart may yearn, 

For rest this side the grave: can this be well? " 

Poor, weary soul, let nature speak to thee: 
Forespent with many flights through hindering air, 

A lark once prayed that air might cease to be. 
Her folly granted, all too late aware 

How the opposing ether made her rise. 

She fell to earth, no more to reach the skies. 

THE OLD STORY. 

I, IX, 

He. Flee. 

II, X, 
She. Decree. 

III, XI, 
Free. Jubilee. 

IV, XII, 
See? Three. 

V, XIII, 
Tea. Disagree. 

VI, XIV, 
Knee. Decree. 

VII, XV, 
Plea. Glee. 



VIII, 
Agree. 



42 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



THE PILOT. 

The Captain's voice was clear and loud. 
"What course is this, O Pilot rude, 

That thou art taking, when my word 
Should guide thee? What! shall joy elude 
My grasp because thine eyes are blurred? " 
The Pilot guides the ship with dim 
Hid face, and words are nought to him. 

The Captain raised a heavy hand. 
"Beware! my might shall fiercely glow 

If thou guide not as I shall say. 
I rule my voyage and I know. 
Alone, the path by night and day." 
The sun sails calmly with sweet grace, — 
Still guides the Pilot with hid face. 

Despair makes low the Captain's voice. 
"Nor joy, nor hope of joy, is mine, 

Who sail alone and ever must. 
The ship shall sink; I will decline 
To serve 'neath one I cannot trust." 
The Pilot hears. — A thousand suns 

Would shed but darkness to the light 

From him that flames. The Captain shuns 

That awful gaze and kneels, contrite. 

His voice prays weepingly and low, 
"My Pilot, shrive me from the past! 

I erred, not knowing anything. 
Lead on, to love or chilling blast, 
Eternal Pilot, Lord and King." 
The ship sped on. The Pilot smiled, 
For man and he were reconciled. 

43 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



TOO LATE. 

"It was a crime, that bitter word from me, 
A crime, O Christ, that breaks my heart," she said. 
(Shall love be given tomorrow or today?) 
"Forgive me, dear Lord Christ, and grant this plea: 
Restore my breast his loving heart and head." 
(Give love today and always — while you may.) 

"I pained him! — I, unworthy now indeed 
Of his dear love or touch upon the brow." 
(Shall nettle-seed be sown and roses bloom?) 
"I pained him! yet such love as his would heed 
My bitter cry if he but heard it now!" 

(Lo! seeds shall bear their kind, for joy or gloom.) 

"O sailor-lover, husband, come to me! 
The Christ shall die before I curse again." 
(May many tears bring back a spirit-soul?) 
"He will return! He can but heed my plea! 
He will return — but I grieve on till then." 
(Will tears avail when Death has claimed his toll?) 



TO WILLIAM WATSON. 

(Author of "The Purple East.") 

The nation lives! We thought her dead indeed, 
Old England, dead, or palsied with old age, 
When month succeeded month and still the gage 

Of righteous war was not thrown down, to weed 

The world of Turkey. But in time of need 
A true man speaks, and through the hermitage 
Of one brave man, who spurns her patronage 

And laughs at hate, rebukes from God proceed. 

44 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Stand forth, high William Watson! THou art crowned 
By thine own words beyond the words of king. 

And we would crowd to laud thee, thee, renowned 
For loyalty to truth! Take heart and sing 

Again and once again God's curse on wrong. 

Until the nation strike where points thy song. 



THE BOOKWORM vs. NATURE. 

I. Marvel Howe so many can 

Seek Fields outdoors wherein to roam! 
My Greenwood Landor Fielding Gay, 

Give me a Holiday at home. 

I fear the dogs and cows and bulls 

Might give me Payne I could not Dodge; 

My Barker's mild, and Cowper's Child 
Might lead my Bulwer past the Lodge. 

I miss no flowers by the Brooke, — 

My flowers of rhetoric suffice. 
When Boothes are Browne and rills come down 

Swift from the Hill, I Read Fordyce. 

I'm Savage, — O, the Dickens ! — when 
To me some Young Green Suckling cries, 

"Longfellow, guide to the mountain-side." 
My Montaigne on my bosom lies. 

The stile I sit on near the Burns 
Is any style that makes me Cross. 

My Hare is Wilde, though I'm beguiled 
From Sterne-ness then by dear old Moss. 

45 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



I Will Shakespears and Martial jeers 
Against the Ranke who make me Smart, 

And, not to Trench too "Lang" on space, 
A Words'worth Moore '11 express my Harte: 

I save my Bacon and my Lamb 
For Vi(r)gils in the tranquil Knight, 

When a Plato' type and a meerschaum pipe 
Knock nature higher than a kite. 



WHAT SEEKEST THOU? 

What seekest thou, my friend? 

Wealth? — to be left when life is beginning. 

Power? — but none with the angel of death. 

Fame? — it but lasts with the butterfly's breath. 

Happiness? — selfish and fickle forever. 

Peace? — 'tis the crown of some other endeavor. 

Love? — seek love and bestow it, bestow it, 
Give love to the uttermost end. 
Seek it out and give freely and show it. 
For in love and love only, my friend. 
Blend the glories and beauties worth winning. 

Born of eternity's breath, 

King of the angel of death, 
Wealth that endureth forever. 
Power that weakeneth never. 
Fame without shame or endeavor, 
Happiness true and supernal. 
Peace perfect, immortal, eternal. 

Fountain of the very God, 

Spirit of His smile and rod. 

Star of hope at the broken sod, — 
Verily, mighty, marvelous, whole, 
Love is the goal of the soul. 

46 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



THE GREATER SCALfi. 

I think this music-scale of sounds we know, 
This wondrous range from highest starlight roll 
To lowest thunder-bass, is to God's whole 

Vast music-realm as one short note, one low 

Half-heard sweet note of all, whose wider flow 
Shall some day seem God's voice to each pure soul. 
Then shall no jarring chord the rest control, 

For discord dies with all of earthly woe. 

If but one note, fragmented thus for man. 
Hold in its heart a power occult as life, 

Bewitching as the loved one, strong as hope. 
What lordship infinite and sweeter than 

The rarest mortals dream through all their strife. 
Awaits the souls that now in discord grope! 



BEFORE THE FIRE. 

He. 

How strange! Sweet love, I have been traveling back 
To the twilight fields of first impressions, where 

Thy spirit first revealed to me my lack. 
Spreading a feast the while, but though I stare 

With eager eyes to find that happy morn, 

I cannot say what day my love was born. 

She. 
Hark to the wind! It blows so wild tonight 

I think perhaps 'tis loveless, — and so old! 
Find me its home, or trace its wayward flight 

For but one hour, ere thou seek to unfold 
The mystic ways of love. Why reason, dear. 
And seek again her gates when love is near? 

47 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



He. 

The gates of love! The reasons of the heart 
Pass reason, truly. Sweet, if I could tell 

Just why, when we two met no more to part, 
Just why or one the smallest word could spell 

Why love was born in me, I think that you 

Should doubt my love! — but this I cannot do. 

She. 
When Love Divine breathed out our souls, that die 

With him, he willed that we should meet and love. 
Because you, dear, are you and I am I, 

Behold, we love! And more may no man prove. 
We love, and love The Love that gave us bliss. 
We love! no word can satisfy like this. 



EASTER. 

Awake! Behold! the sun of all the days 

Of all the year arises now on earth, 

The one great day whence all days take their worth. 
The Saviour lives! Rejoice, and love and praise 
The loving God who suffered in the clay's 

Strait fold, and died man's death to give man birth. 

Uplift the head, for this despairing dearth 
Called life shall rise to life no speech conveys. 

He lives, and death is dead beneath his feet; 

He lives, and death is silent guide to life 
For all who seek the higher ways and meet. 

Uplift the head and sing, for no man's strife 
For Truth and God shall fail: today is born 
Life's greatest hope, the hope of life at morn. 

48 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 

CONTENTMENT. 
(From Gladwin's prose version of Saadi.) 

"How strangely hard are fortune's ways to me! 

May not I murmur now, when fate 
Deprives my feet of shoes, nor lets me see 

The way to change my woful state? " 

With heavy heart I spoke, and went within 
The mosque to pray, when, glancing 'round, 

A sight far worse convicted me of sin: 
A man who lacked both feet I found. 

O Allah, I will give to Thee all praise! 

Forgive my murmuring, life's last, 
As first, and when Thy will my soul dismays 

I will recall Thy blessings vast. 

MODERATION. 
(From Gladwin's prose version of Saadi.) 

Ardsheer, the King, intent on doing well, 
Once questioned his physician on the weight 

Of food a man might daily eat, yet dwell 
Long on the earth before he reached death's gate. 

A small amount the wise physician named. 

Surprised and all displeased, "What strength can be 
In one who stints him thus? " the King exclaimed. 

Too fond of eating quickly to agree. 

Bravely the answer came: "Enough is this, 
(And more would be a burden indiscreet:) 

Should not we eat to live, and find our bliss 
In praising Allah? but you live to eat! " 

49 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 

INSCRIPTION FOR A STATUE OF ANACREON. 

(Theocritus, Fragment XVI.) 

Pause and mark well this statue, you who roam, 
And say, when thou returnest to thy home, 

"In Teos the statue of Anacreon 
Beheld I, he who surely far excelled 

All singing souls of all the ages gone." 
Add that with love for youth his bosom swelled, 
And nothing of Anacreon is withheld. 

CHARITY. 

"O lack of charity. 'Tis such a grave offence," 
Said I to self one day, "A book I will commence — " 
But here my soul replied, "First change your residence." 

MY AGE. 

My age? Five thousand years. — A somewhat lengthy span? 
But men who lived and wrote soon after time began 
Are truly part of me: — a very aged man. 

MATERNITY. 

O miracle occult of womanhood! 
Methinks the angels still bow low in awe 
Before the silent workings of a law 

Whose secret ways no soul has understood, 
However men their wise conclusions draw. 

50 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Lo, hear them prate — restating laws, in sooth, 
But touching never explanation's hem! 
Meanwhile, each day the sacred diadem 

Of mortal life, beginning, crowns in truth 
Woman and man as holy parent-stem. 

In reverence high hold woman! — chief est, when 
A new immortal life is drawing near. 
In reverence hold her, — yea, although she sear 

Her frail or ignorant soul with sin; at men, 
I think, God hurls his curses most severe! 



LOVE'S PROOFLESSNESS. 

Pain may display and prove itself at need: 
She hath a tongue wherewith to tell her woe 
What time the heart no longer dares to go 

Along the way alone; and she may feed 

Upon the gestures of despair and plead 
In silence deep; and, last of ways that show 
And ease the aching heart, the blessed flow 

Of tears may prove and succor her indeed. 

But what hath love of outward sign or grace? 

How canst thou know my joy in loving thee? 
No words avail, nor play of eyes or face, 

And tears are meet but when thy tears I see. 
Love thou, sweetheart, and love shall prove apace 

How proofless yet how perfect love may be. 



61 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



A VALENTINE. 

There is a weighty question 
That men would fain decide, 

And down through all the ages 
They've wrangled till they died; 

A question big and puzzling 
On which we quarrel still, 

And doubt our own decisions — 
The freedom of the Will. 

Are we the helpless children 

Of fates we must obey, 
Or may we plan and conquer, 

And have our own sweet way? 

Now I will let the schoolmen 
Go on from bad to worse. 

And simply tell my sweetheart. 
In graceful, stately verse, (?) 

That when my Heart is leading. 

And all my Will is free, 
Why, Fate must follow after 

And be a slave to me! 

My heart leads on to you, dear, 

My blessed Valentine! 
I pray you take and keep it 

And give me yours for mine! 

But if my heart and will, dear. 
Are yours "for keeps," O where 

Is all my boasted freedom 
That used to look so fair? 
52 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



You stole it! I am still, then, 

Led on by Fate, not Will! 
And yet, if Will be happy 

My state is Freedom still! 

O happy, blessed tangle! 

My dearest Valentine, 
The love that binds together. 

As one, your heart and mine, 

May laugh and crook its finger 

At all that is obscure; 
The love that makes us one, dear. 

Is plain and sweet and sure. 

MY CELESTIAL VISITOR. 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and 

weary. 
O'er a bill of twenty dollars I could never, never pay. 
O'er a bill for washing collars from the Chinaman o'er the 

way. 
While I wondered how the — (dash) — I could ever find the 

cash. 
Straight there came a mighty pounding, pounding on my 

chamber door. 
And I burrowed in the bed-clothes deeper than I was before, 
Deeper far than e'er before. 

Now the room was nigh to freezing and, although it set me 

sneezing, 
And although it set me wheezing like a man who "does not 

snore," 
Streiight I flung the bed-clothes off me and I bounded to the 

door. 

53 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



I had heard that kick before and I bounded for that door, 
Meaning now to take my vengeance, meaning now to pay 

that score, 
With my fists; — he still was kicking at that frail and wormy 

door, — 

Meaning now to wade in gore. 

"John," I shouted, "get you thither, or I'll send you to the 
whither 

Of the Chinese bourne eternal, with your legs and bills in- 
fernal! " 



Drop the curtain for a season! When I had again my reason 

On the bed I still was lying, with a doctor beautifying 

My black eyes, and I felt sore. Heaven and earth, but I was 

sore! 
And my bones I'm still caressing, for that heathen's awful 

blessing 
In the shape of wounds distressing, in the shape of marks 

galore, 

Will stay with me evermore! 



THE POET. 

And where shall be my home, O You who bade me live? 
"My home, the country, where I dwell affirmative." 

What friend will follow me, who would be loved, and love? 
"One who made you and friendship — Friend all friends 
above." 

54 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



How shall I teach mankind, whose ways I may not know? 
"Interpret thine own heart, O child of joy and woe." 

How shall earth nourish me, whose only skill is song? 
"What treasure has the lark, for whom my love is strong?" 

Of what shall my heart sing, whose joy on earth is dead? 
"The immortal joys of truth shall sing through thee instead." 

Will men reward my soul with all the love I crave? 
"They will reward thy soul — till sweeter were the grave." 

What gain shall be for life so bitter, wan and frore? 
"My peace, my love. Myself, both now and evermore." 

(A silence.) 

Make quick my soul with Thee. The beauty of the truth 

Shall be my goal and song. 
"We twain as one shall be, for my immortal youth 

Shall live in soul and song." 



THE HERMIT. 
"It is not good for man to live alone." 

The idle talk upon the street, 
Forgotten when the hurrying feet 

Have left it pure again; 
The sight of those whose vileness shows 
And all their Uttle good o'erflows, 

Till they are hid from men; 

55 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



The senseless din and clamor loud 
Of those who seek to lead the crowd 

While they themselves are blind; 
The scornful glance of ignorance, 
The inward look of arrogance, 

Most pleased when most unkind, — 

All these are but mere words to me; 
All these I know of as the sea 

Knows of the moiling land. 
For unappeased where mortals fed 
Their hungry souls with stones for bread, 

Long since, I marked a rand 

O'er which nor they nor I shall pass. 
Till chemic death the wretched mass 

Strike through and clarify. 
I live beyond the world's control! 
I seek and find the tranquil goal 

Of peace and purity. 

All day I breathe the mountain air, 
All day I face the firm, the fair. 

And nothing else beside. 
I pause, — 'tis infinitely still; 
I sing, I thrill, and many a rill 

Answers my surging tide. 

I read one book and ask no more; 
I envy no man, and the lore 

Of human love I've thrown — 
Ah, God, forgive! Ah, God, I faint — 
Faint with the long, long years' restraint! 

Alone, alone, alone! 



56 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



THE UNPAID RANSOM. 

One perfect day, while still within God's heaven, 
His chiefest angel sinned a sin so black 

He knew he never quite could be forgiven, 
And packed his trunk to seek earth's zodiac. 

His last good-bye was said and, ready quite 
To leave the place he once had loved so well, 

He turned to go, when from the Wondrous Light 
There came a Voice, all sorrow to dispel: 

"Thy sin shall be forgiven, forgotten quite, 
And thou shalt dwell with us as at thy birth, 

If thou wilt perfectly, in words polite. 
Define' the soul called Woman, on the earth." 

The first sweet words held Satan as in thrall. 
So great the joy of hope within his breast. 

But at the close he groaned. Then, with a drawl 
Sarcastic, bitter, said this erstwhile guest, 

"I've made a thousand worlds and made them well, 
And done a million mightier acts for thee. 

But now — Good-bye. In heaven I cannot dwell: 
That deed's impossible for even me." 



JULY FOURTH. 

Bom with the heritage of liberty. 

Untrammelled liberty, we shout the name 
And glorify the word into that flame 

By night and cloud by day which solemnly 

Led on the Israelite. Beware! Too free 
Will be the body if the spirit's aim 
Is sunk within the letter, and the shame 

Of nakedness strike down our jubilee! 
57 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



One only path leads up to freedom's height 
Whence purest love sends purest wisdom down, 

And in the name of freedom's holy light, 

And for the sake of the nation's holiest crown 

I say that Bondage to the Truth will lead — 

And only this — to Liberty indeed. 



QUATRAINS. 

The Change. 

Unconsciously we wail with life's first breath. 
So dark and dure the past throws down its shade; 
But ripening years to strength and peace persuade 

Our souls, and, consciously, we smile at death. 

Wisdom. 

He spelled the ground, knew flower and bird so well 
All students called him lord; loved beasts and man 
As beast, then sighed, "I find no God." Thus can 

The foolish prate, when self proves God and hell. 

Inconsistency. 

Regrettest thou that pearls on ocean's floor 
Lie useless, ne'er to reach a human mart? 

O foolish one, such losses to deplore. 
When many unused pearls are in thy heart. 

Unselfishness. 

To give, though we never receive. 
To bless, — hungry, tearful, yet strong. 

Ah, thus may a mortal achieve 
Immortality's right out of wrong. 

68 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



On the Voyage. 

The best of books are valueless and vain 

Unless the readers know themselves the most, 
As rudders serve the boats on sea and coast 

With wisdom only when controlled by brain. 

Doubleness. 
"Thy will be done!" Breathe out no sigh, 

O fearful soul, when saying this. 
Or some sweet joy His will makes nigh 

May pass thee — as unworthy bliss. 

The Poet. 
Along the rays of light towards God 

He hastens, dreaming of their beauty, 
And sending back that vast white light 

In rainbow songs of love and duty. 

Poetry. 

The spirit in and forming all — 
The beauty vaguely felt by souls 
That seek the substance more than goals 

Of earth — the life our lives forestall. 

The Sacred Reserve. 
Not wholly may the barriers be broken 

Betwixt two earthly souls, however dear. 
Yet sorrow not, for this reserve is token 

Of a divinity we should revere. 

Silence. 
Imperfect man could use no language now 

More pure and vast than this that frets the soul; 
But ah! beyond, the silence will teach how 

Perfection speaks to souls made pure and whole. 

59 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



When Time Has Ceased. 

When Time has ceased and back from whence we sprung 
We go, all men shall be forever young, 
And even here must God's immortal youth 
Begin in all who love immortal truth. 

Doubt. 

The Wisdom mixed life's good and ill for man, 
But placed within his hand the sword of Doubt. 

Unused, that weapon answers not God's plan, 
And used too much His good is driven out. 

The Travel of the Soul. 

We say of Birth, "A new life is begun;" 
When Love's day dawns, "Life now begins in me;" 
When Death draws nigh, "True life begins to be;" — 

Lo! is there ever new life to be won? 

"Little Things." 

A flower, a narrow strip of sky, and time 
For her to pray, — no more, but these sufficed 

To keep her soul near God, though luring crime 
Stretched up, and deadly gold of man enticed. 

Beyond the Face. 

The house was poor and mean, without a trace 
Of beauty. Sin or pain had made him base, 
I thought, but when I knew beyond the gate. 
Awestruck I said, "Would God I were as great!" 



60 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 

A VISION. 

(Dedicated, without permission, to Stephen Crane.) 

I saw a crimson mooly cow 

A-sitting down in a dormant golden meadow. 

"Look here," I shrieked, 

"What rattling madness possesses your infinite soul, 

To squat 

(Ungracefully) in this watery house? 

Dazzling night descends in four minutes, 

Night, mother of colds and hay-fever. 

And tomorrow the eternal gates of paradise — " 

"Mo-o-o!" remarked the crimson mooly cow. 

And I blushed, 

And rippled away in a hurry. 

MOTHER GOOSE, REVISED. 

By, O Baby Bunting, 
Mama's gone a hunting; 
Gone to find a richer man, 
On the modern moral plan. 

COUPLETS. 

Justice and Mercy. 
Unto thyself give justice, and just the thing shall be; 
Unto the world give mercy, — true justice still from thee. 

Freedom. 
"No bonds at all! Give me sweet freedom," cries the youth; 
But freedom dwells in naught save bondage to the truth. 

61 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Praise. 

The praise of some is manna from on high, 
But when all praise, 'tis time for one to die. 

On Books. 

The wisest lore that books have ever taught a soul 
Thirsting for truth is this: — Self is the greater scroll. 

Wealth. 

The world may or may not my little wealth increase, 
But self may always win the eternal wealth of peace. 

Love to God and Man. 

The one who loveth men to God may still be blind, 
But he who loveth God loves also all mankind. 

Sufficiency. 

With self and God, a cave may still be paradise; 

With God and self unknown, the world cannot suffice. 

Unselfishness. 

Work thou for self alone, and life shall die at death; 
For others live, and lo! death shall be God's own breath. 

Double Gain. 

Within the Eternal Heart I strove to lose my soul. 

And found myself the more the more I found The Whole. 

Narrowness. 

To love mankind and not The Man without a peer. 
Is like the love of stars when the sun is shining clear. 

62 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Eternity. 

Eternity's soft winds my sultry soul sweep o'er, 

As travelers feel sea-breezes ere they reach the shore. 

The Beloved. 

She smiles, and the smiles of the others seem tears; 
She weeps, and their sorrow like laughter appears. 

The Love of Many — and One. 

Though love were given me from all beneath the sun, 
'Twould siill be somewhat less than just the love of one. 

Two Women. 

The one had youthful beauty: with years all graces fled; 
The other plain but loving, the years to beauty led. 

Friendships. 

'Twixt man and woman, friendship must be discreet and wise, 
But friendship with the authors no man may criticise. 

Books and Friends. 

A book is like a flower pressed with tender care; 
A friend is like a garden of living flowers rare. 

A Puzzle. 

A trifle will persuade men to folly or to sin. 

But mighty reasons only will plant the good within. 

The Intervals. 

Commune with nature often but still with man remain: 
Seek nature as a silence, mankind as language plain. 

63 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Beauty. 
No dream of beauty shall remain unsatisfied; 
The shadow proves the sun, — and think you God has lied? 

The Difference. 
We judge ourselves by that which we profess, 
But others by their actions and their dress. 

The Crowded Isle. 
When peace midst men departs, since all their ways seem ill, 
Sigh for no desert isle, for one would be there still. 

A Test. 
Said one, "I trust no man, for all men are untrue." 
"Or false or true," said I, "that settles trust in you!" 



THE TWO GOSPELS. 

Entranced with Beauty, love made once so wise 
Her votaries they writ a gospel called 
The Gospel of the Body, and enthralled 

Thereby all eager ears, all wandering eyes. 

O wondrous Greeks, who knew the treasuries 
Of Beauty, and our simple lore forestalled. 
Not since your day — our workers half-appalled, 

Work idly — has art seen such victories. 

Praise for the Greeks! And yet, a victory 
Still incomplete and dumb, ten thousand times 
Divine, and white as earth's most perfect goal; — 

The Gospel of the Body, that must die! 

But deathless Beauty's full and finer chimes 
Call us to write the Gospel of the Soul. 

64 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



THE SIGHT OF A SOUL. 

Exalted heavenward by a night of prayer, 
A saintly monk forgot the bonds of clay 
And dared to ask of God one glimpse, one ray 

Of light from Him — the Infinite! A glare 

Of sudden awful glory filled the bare 
And narrow cell, until the light of day 
Tenfold increased had been but twilight gray. 

And on his face the monk fell in despair. 

"O God, forgive me! I am mortal still, 
And not of heaven: have mercy and depart." 

The glory faded and a Voice did thrill 
Each fibre of that pure but human heart: 

"How couldst thou bear to read a higher scroll 
When thou hast feared a naked human soul? " 



FOR ONE SWEET DAY. 

Now just for this sweet day, dear Nature, let 

Thy soul draw mine away from human fret 

And careless grief, to perfect bliss with thee. 

This day let singing brook and murmuring tree 

Teach me thy secret strength and peace until 

I reach thy heart of youth, from out the chill 

Of wanton human love, too deep and cold 

For simple ones who love thee. Dear, withhold 

No longer balm and blessing; purify 

The one who waits on this sweet day — come nigh 

And silently restore my youth, till frost 

Of life and dark of death are swiftly lost 

At touch of thine. Show me thy face, I pray, 

For this sweet day, for one entrancing day. 

65 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 

HIS SONG. 

In Youth. 

"Sweet dream of beauty, live, and be 

My hope, my joy, till words shall come. 

Thank God, the world shall worship thee 
And marvel why all men were dumb 

Till my lips humbly set thee free." 

In Manhood. 

"My song must wait: earth's many cares 
Crowd day and night, and nearer things 

Than singing songs thwart songs and prayers. 
When these are past, sweet hidden springs 

Of peace and strength shall drown despairs." 

At Death. 

"Alas! the end, and nothing won. 

My dream of beauty, fare thee well! 
I hoped mankind to cheer, but none 

Of all my thoughts were born. The knell 
Must sound for song and soul undone." 

The World. 

"Pass to thy rest, O noble soul, 

As we bow down before thy song. 
The song of songs was thine, whose whole 

Pure life unselfish fought the wrong: 
THY LIFE, that Song is on God's scroll." 



66 



THOUGHTS AND PASTELS. 



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^^txc are gfa^es from i^c gforteB afiotje, 

(^nb i^t guibeB fo f^eir inftntfe gfabnees 
5b f^e ft03^ of an inffniie fotje. 



68 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



THOUGHTS AND PASTELS. 

Deep subjects and high ideals can hardly be dwelt on 
too much, nor can a thoughtful presentation of them ever be 
out of place. 

Whoso thinks at all, speaks perforce, and because it 
is as impossible for him to keep silence, if he be honest, as 
it is for the lighted candle to extinguish itself. 

Some books are flowers from the plant of life, and no 
thoroughly honest man will allow any bloom of his life to be 
seen by others unless he is sure it possesses more truth or 
beauty than their opposites. 

In our own work we take as much pleasure in the 
process as in the result, but in the work of others conclusions 
alone yield us the most pleasure and profit. 

We can read in a few seconds that which it took one 
hours, perhaps, to think out and write to his satisfaction; 
ergo, we should rarely pass unfavorable or even favorable 
judgment on any matter before having considered it care- 
fully. Thought demands thought. 

A true man cares not whether his book die or live 
save as he cares for the death of falsehood and the life of 
truth. 

Correcting a bad habit: Making over a riding gown. 
If winter comes, can spring be far behind? Certainly: 
about six months. 

The painter's hardest task is to draw money. 
The censure that we deserve is what hurts. 
Though the two feelings are often confounded, recogni- 
tion of truth is not sympathy with it. 

We do not fully understand ourselves, — yet lay down 
rules for others. 

Bondage to truth is the only freedom known. 

69 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Evil is limited, good is unlimited. We see no end to good, 
and straightway are discouraged because so far from per- 
fection. Slowly, slowly, my friend. 

A religious man adapts himself to God, while a fanatic 
adapts God to himself. 

The more we love ourselves the more we please God. 
The less we love ourselves the more we please Him. Both 
statements are true. 

By analyzing others we become harsh and uncharitable. 
By analyzing ourselves we become sympathetic, gentle, chari- 
table. 

Truly to learn from experience the rules that we draw 
from our experience must be applied to many other things. 

Hate tends to separate and to kill; love glories in bring- 
ing together and uniting and harmonizing all things. 

Open to all men is the greatest achievement of man — 
the grand, steady growth of soul; limitless, infinite in possi- 
bilities, endless in results, glorious beyond the world's worth 
and the reason for our existence here. 

Thoughts are more often the centers of horizons than the 
ultimate expression of facts. 

Sad indeed is it that the debts put on us by the friend- 
ship of one are not always payable to that one. 

Noble ideas are man's compass, pointing to the north 
pole of perfection, while friendship is a magnet. When the 
magnet interferes with the accurate working of the compass, 
that magnet must be removed though the heart break. 

Men value positiveness so highly that they will sooner 
forgive wrong judgment than doubt. 

Seek not perfection. Let not one fault in a man estrange 
you from him, or you will be unworthy of friendship and 
alone all through life. 



70 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Love can know no greater bitterness than the knowledge 
that its object is in some grave way unworthy of love. Yet 
true love, under some circumstances, will but cling the closer 
to its object. 

Even as no one man is perfectly representative of a 
nation, so no one friend answers to all we feel when think- 
ing of friendship. Yet friends are good! 

Instinct, inclination, conscience and v/ill combined can- 
not keep one in the right path; knowledge must be sought 
and applied, and that continually. 

The majority of people hate the sense of responsibility; 
it is well for readers that the majority of writers do not 
belong to that class. 

He who never exaggerates is incapable of speaking the 
truth. But equally unwise and dangerous is he who always 
exaggerates. The world is neither a level plain nor a level 
mountain. 

If you would be a ruler of men, be ruled yourself abso- 
lutely by some great idea. Because: The world wouldn't 
bid more than two cents for your naked ego, but for a man 
plus an idea it would very likely give as much as — five. 

We give explanations to those only who do not ask them. 

Absolute evil and absolute virtue alike acknowledge no 
law. 

Human nature is the highest and lowest, saddest and 
happiest, foolishest and wisest, cruelest and kindest, simplest 
and most composite, purest and most corrupt, most despond- 
ent and hopeful, most selfish and unselfish, most loving and 
hateful; yes, the most devilish as well as the divinest, thing 
on the face of the earth. For wondrous and awful variety, 
and this in even one individual, no mixture of the chemist 
can equal human nature. 

Words leak. Yet, somehow, their spirit enters the cup 
open to receive it. 



71 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



A bad conscience may be the cause of insomnia, but often 
it is the bad conscience of the men and women who wrong 
us that keeps us awake. 

More Ukely is it that small love will bring great love 
down to its own level than that the large love will make the 
small increase. 

Every person is a fool in some particular. Therefore, 
strike gently at the others, my friend. 

The kind-hearted man feels bitterly the difficulty of 
excusing himself without accusing others. 

Thoughts unexpressed are only half possessed. 

The best judge of human nature at sight may be all at 
sea when he attempts to estimate people of another nation- 
ality. 

A friend, a good man, told me that he had lost all the 
records of his business — copies of letters, notes worth thou- 
sands of dollars, etc. — in a fire. I told him that the Record- 
ing Angel will never suffer in like manner. But to some men 
this would be small consolation. 

Don't jest with strangers. Nine times out of ten they 
will misunderstand you. 

Emphasis in the wrong place creates the weakness it 
would avoid. 

The reason that some men cannot keep their heads above 
water is that they are helping others to do so. 

Faith: Riches we cannot hide, exhibit nor give away. 

Contempt: In an inferior, jealousy; in a superior, weak- 
ness. 

Words: The shadows of our thoughts. 

Vices: The faults of our ancestors. 

Socialism: Dividing with the other fellow. 

Anarchy: Compelling the other fellow to divide with us. 

Thought is practical only when it keeps practical things 
in subjection. 

72 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



If flowers are the language of angels, music is the 
language of God. 

Our comforts render us complacent, lazy; our sorrows 
keep us painfully awake and also force comforts to min- 
ister strength. 

Hard it is to feel that what we know would be our 
best thoughts we cannot express to even ourselves. 

Strife for truth is a kind of praise to God. 

He who teaches men to think does them a nobler ser- 
vice than he who teaches them all other things combined. 

Man is the soul of nature, and each man is to him- 
self the soul of nature. That is, if he be noble and love 
nature he will see in her just so much of beauty and worth 
as he is, and if he be mean himself he will care little for her 
and see hardly a shadow of her beauty. 

The law of compensation is spiritually what the law 
of conservation of energy is materially. No act in either 
world ends with the act itself. 

The devil hates solitude. 

When we look back on ourselves as we were one year 
ago we see wherein we were foolish and how often we 
committed evil. Let us be humble at the present time, for in 
a year from now we shall again reach the same conclusion. 

Paradoxical but true: the greater the heart the less 
room in it for evil. 

Wouldst thou have thy burdens lightened? Help thy 
brother in his need and tenfold shall it be returned thee. 

Is it the ambition of thy life to greatly bless thy 
fellow-men? This may be more easily accomplished, per- 
haps, than thou thinkest. Begin with thyself, live purely, 
nobly, unselfishly, and so far as this is done thy purpose 
is fruitioned. Do more if thou canst, but to govern one king- 
dom is more than most men do. 



73 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Most of the evil wrought in the world is the result 
of thoughtlessness, not premeditation, but it is none the less 
an evil, and, seeing it could have been prevented, a crime. 

All knowledge is good in itself, but unless a man has 
omnipotent strength he had better let some of it alone till he 
has. 

When we cannot at the same time be true to our- 
selves and true to others we must be true to ourselves. Right 
may fall back one step in our direction but it gains two in 
another. 

To tire of a thing is no sign of inconstancy; rather 
is it the reverse, as it may show we are true to a higher 
principle. 

What does originality consist in except in appro- 
priating and using to an unusual and striking advantage facts 
and observations which are public property? When comes a 
mind great enough to properly appreciate and present com- 
mon occurrences — and all occurrences are common — then 
we say: Behold a genius! 

Gain first God's approval, then thine own, setting 
thy small watch by the great Regulator, and let the opinion of 
the world count for naught. Do right; if the world approve, 
well; if not, thou losest but a trifle. 

Recognition of truth is not sympathy with truth, 
although often confounded with it. 

Men of great attainments receive too much praise, 
while men of small calibre, who achieve, in consequence, 
little, do not receive enough praise, though they may have 
exerted more strength proportionately. 

To the wise man no thing is strange, because every 
thing is strange. 

We speak of "great men"; is this to our credit? 
Yes, and No. Yes, because we ought to recognize a man's 
natural and acquired qualities, and No, because we ought to 
be his equal in striving for Truth, in which alone true great- 
ness consists. 

74 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Steadily and more clearly do I see that there is 
nothing in the world but little things. These little things, 
however, acquire a startling significance when viewed in 
this light. 

When a man works so much that he has no time or 
room for pride he receives more honor from others than he 
could ever give himself. 

Most of us are not strong enough to be gentle; we 
are weak, and attempt to conceal it by indifference and rude- 
ness. 

Man is a spirit consisting of two principles, and the 
stage beyond the period of earthly existence is the continuing 
and perfecting of the principle which predominated here. 
Which rules thee the more. Good or Evil? 

The best — noblest — diplomacy is to have none. 

In wanting to be loved, better give love to an hun- 
dred persons who do not love thee than wait for some one 
to love thee first. 

True sorrow for sin indicates such advance that the 
soul will not again fall as readily into it. 

The soul should not, and in thinking persons does 
not, find any thing purely negative. Each thing assists or 
retards progress. 

As the fact of the earth's moving can be proved 
only by an appeal to reason, so the fact of future life can be 
proved only by an appeal to intuition, and not, in either case, 
by the senses. 

Almost every man is honestly anxious for himself 
to develop, yet seems naturally to think of every one else 
as stationary. 

We do not fully understand ourselves, yet lay down 
rules for the conduct of others! 

If each man had half as much charity for the world 
in general as he has for himself, strife of all kinds would 
cease. 

75 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



If we are strong and wish it, no thing can injure 
us and each thing will do us good. 

Many people pray too much in words; the best 
prayer, the only true prayer is work. 

The very fact that we cannot always decide a point 
proves our indefinite and immense capabilities, and should 
be the source of an awful joy. Did we feel a limit in think- 
ing we should have to decide our powers mortal. 

Set that man down as one who looks on death as 
the end of all, who always finds language adequate to express 
his feelings. 

Better be wholly unsuccessful in a right course than 
successful in a wrong one. 

While genius has little regard for common-sense, 
a lack of common-sense does not necessarily indicate genius. 

Of ourself we tell only the good; of our neighbors 
perhaps the good, but certainly the bad. 

To expect love to be perfectly satisfied with any- 
thing less than love in return, is as futile as expecting a 
woman's fan to create a vacuum in the open air. 

Our capacity for learning from others is propor- 
tioned to our capacity for putting ourself in their place. 

People who always want a reason for everything 
resemble the man who would demand proof of the statement 
that the shortest line between two points is a straight line. 

Strange, that in things temporal we desire to pos- 
sess others' goods, or at least goods like others', but in things 
spiritual think our own attainments the best! It shows how 
much more strongly we are affected through the senses than 
through the soul. 

If we are dissatisfied with our attainments there is 
hope for us. Then so long as dissatisfacton exists we should 
be satisfied. 

After all, viewed aright, nothing can be too much 
trouble in itself. 

76 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



One reason why so many persons feel a great reserve 
towards others is that the disagreeables are on the surface, 
and what we wish to say does not harmonize with the 
externals. 

The law of contrast is stronger than the law of 
harmony. This is one of the reasons why discords are some- 
times written in music, "that harmony should be prized." 

The originality which takes a form unwise in itself 
is better than a slavish conformity to society, which would 
mold all into a dead life. The only trouble lies in the fact 
that the originality takes a wrong form. 

The habit of questioning everything, which by so 
many is considered dangerous to purity, is absolutely neces- 
sary; the only danger is from false judgment. 

However much we may think our ideal man is the 
combination of the qualities most nearly perfect of all our 
acquaintances, he is most nearly like ourself. 

God's curse on man was not that he must labor, but that 
the labor necessary to existence should antagonize the soul 
and hinder its development. We must eat before we think. 
Yet with watchfulness this very curse may be transmuted 
into a blessing. 

The philosopher sees Truth, and sees it in its barest 
form; the poet sees also the beauty of Truth. 

Troubles and griefs are the rain-storms of the soul. 

The wicked man values his reputation, not his charac- 
ter, while the righteous man cares for his character and but 
very little for his reputation. 

Bondage to Truth is the only freedom known. 

Perfect knowledge of one natural object, one blade 
of grass for instance, would explain all earthly things. 

We demand sympathy, but give only pity. 

It is better to decide, be the decision right or wrong, 
than to be continually wavering. 



77 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



And still, better waver than decide and then never 
be willing to change. 

He who cannot change his opinions is a fool; he who 
will not change them is a knave. 

Age petrifies most people as silica hardens wood, but 
a few resemble the evergreen, which is larger and more 
symmetrical in old age than in youth. 

Love is the greatest developer of the soul; hence 
love is the end, the object, of our present existence. 

For thinking people condensed information is best, 
but most people do not think for themselves, hence the im- 
mense amount of mental pabulum. The daily paper is as 
much a curse as a blessing. 

"Out of sight, out of mind;" if this were quite true, 
how happy we might be! 

Look on the worst side of the past, and the best side 
of the future. 

We can best impress ourselves on others by our 
love. Wisdom repels at first, but love attracts, and opens the 
way for wisdom. Hence, if you would do the most good, 
love. 

If we be God's children, it is impossible, in the full 
sense of that word, for Him to forsake us: can He forsake 
Himself? 

I hold that idea to be a true one, that was held in 
former times more extensively than now, that each man is 
an actual part of God. Like all best things it can be per- 
verted into a most serious evil, but if I believe it to be true, 
I may say so. It is an awful thought. It throws a light on 
the problem of our existence, and makes our lives more sub- 
lime than ever. 

Evil is limited; good is unlimited. We see no end to 
good, and straightway are discouraged because we are so far 
from perfection. 

Silence is Perfection; language and all other material 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



things are imperfect and very annoying at times, but we 
think of Silence and rejoice. I sometimes think God, Heaven, 
Eternity, all dwell in Silence. 

There is really no "reward" and "punishment" for 
good and evil. Remorse for sin, which we call "punishment," 
is a part of sin, its culmination, and good finds Heaven to be 
simply the perfection of itself. 

Self-denial is the purest form of selfishness. 

Few people can have what they want in the material 
world, but in the realm of the mind men can be pretty nearly 
what they WILL to be. 

We are aware, by its effects, of a power not con- 
nected with the senses. It appeals to the soul from all 
material objects, from some more strongly than from others, 
but it eludes our comprehension and even grasp; we cannot 
define it. We are perhaps reading a book and feel strongly 
drawn to take up some other book unread before, when, lo! 
this last passage is a companion to or climax of the first. 
We feel a presence in the room, and may perhaps know whom 
it is, yet we learned it not through the five senses. Who shall 
instruct us in this language, this intuition of the spirit? 

The souls of mankind combined would not make a God. 

Thoughtlessness is the most extreme selfishness in 
its relation to others, and the worst possible evil in its rela- 
tion to ourself. 

Our highest moments are our truest. We must judge our- 
selves by such moments, and measure our acts and attain- 
ments by their height and not by the low standard of com- 
mon hours. 

If every man were so good as in his heart he believes 
himself to be, five men would fully supply the world. 

Woe betide a man if in his care for his house he 
starve the master of the house! We must eat and take care 
of the body in many v/ays, but most men end with that, for- 
getting the soul. 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



One's habitual thoughts react on the will which formed 
them, each strengthening the other. Do we like to think? 
Good. Are our thoughts pure and beautiful? Better. And if 
they fruition into life, best of all, and the reason why we have 
the thinking faculty. 

Concentration of thought on one idea at a time, 
long continued, it may be, is the secret of most success, most 
knowledge, and while we are about it why not dwell on 
worthy objects? Most men drift without aim; grasp the oars 
and get somewhere! 

Marriage, while giving one person to the other, makes 
each more capable of blessing others. Thus while in a form 
selfish, marriage is still more unselfish. 

The greatest thinker is he who can tell us most about 
ourself. 

The older the body the younger — purer — the soul 
should be. 

Strike your colors to no man. You, too, are a man, 
and must live originally, for yourself and out of yourself. 

A religious man adapts himself to God, while a fanatic 
adapts God to himself. 

All known things may be classed under four names: 
materially, dust and soul; spiritually, good and evil. 

Geniuses are they who understand the art of expres- 
sion, first to themselves, then outwardly. They utter what 
others only feel. 

The highest practicality is the materialization of ideality. 

The pessimist says, There is a valley for every hill; 
the optimist says. There is a hill for every valley. 

When souls shall be able to communicate with each 
other by other means than the body, they will give and 
receive perfection, they will know and will be at peace simply 
through existing. 

Soul is supreme and should be indifferent to every 
conceivable thing but itself. This is why great men so often 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



shock us by their disregard of bodily and social laws; but 
our fault it is, not theirs. 

A man, like a tree, should grow heavenward in defiance 
of all material laws: let him but say, I am superior, and he 
is superior. 

The only result of staring into the mystery of human 
life is to bring tears to the eyes, tears of pain to some and 
of joy to others. 

A soul, perfection, can never express itself perfectly 
through the medium it has at present, an imperfect body. 

While we live in the past and the future, we possess 
only the past. 

As in music one continued discord ruins the entire piece, 
so one continued sin may ruin a man's whole life. 

Praise tends to lower some men's standard, censure 
always strengthens. 

Music is the expression of silence. Music, of all 
things which appeal to the senses, is a link and the only 
link between heaven and earth. It appeals to the senses, it 
is true, but is the purest, least earthly, the one perfect thing, 
of all things which do so appeal. 

There are three uses of love. First, the prostitu- 
tion of love into sexual passion, which is — what we call — 
beastly. Second, the degradation of love, into finding in 
man the end of love. The third use of love, which alone is 
right, is the thought of love as Perfection — another word 
for God — each man and, if you wish, each living object, 
being but a fragment. Hence, love is reverential. Also, the 
truest love always has an element of dissatisfaction in it, 
cannot contain itself with less than the whole. 

If life be hard, it is so that we may learn how to make 
it easy. 

Because things in this world are wholly relative, it 
is sometimes true that an act which is wrong to one man is 
right to another. 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Love must be active or it will die. 

Perfection is the marriage of matter and mind. 
Or, it is when the attainments of matter equal the attainments 
of mind, or when ability equals thought. 

If we were able to see with the bodily eye a true 
man, that is, the spirit, as, say, Emerson, the sight would 
dazzle us. We could not see even so small a part of God 
without trembling. 

The isolation of a great mind must be one of the 
worst concomitants of genius. 

The more we love a person, the less, as a rule, we 
feel like talking when in his presence. The very conscious- 
ness of being near him is all-sufficient. 

What more may man ask than to be literally a child of 
God? 

If he who criticises does not benefit others or him- 
self, he is doing no good, but is "creation's blot, creation's 
blank." 

Slang is dethroned poetry. 

All excel in one or two good traits; he who excels in 
most is the great man. 

Every man owes the world all the nobility of charac- 
ter it is possible for him to become possessed of. One 
of the few things wherein man underestimates himself is his 
influence on others. The world is more strongly affected by 
him than he thinks. 

Speak nothing but good of the dead; we know enough 
evil of the living. 

To be never discouraged is not always a sign of wisdom. 

God is the author of the two grandest poems ever 
written, Woman, and Nature. 

It is our bounden duty to ennoble ourselves and others. 
This demands work, but neglect is a crime. 

God never allows an unnecessary person; every 
living human being is essential to creation. He has a com- 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



mission to fulfil, and just damnation awaits the man who runs 
away or wilfully neglects his work. 

Hope is frequently inverted experience. 

Each thing in the material world is symbolic. The 
primary reason for its existence is that it may bless the soul 
of man. 

To have our good acts evil spoken of is better than 
to have our bad acts well spoken of. 

Let fancy fly, but judgment should walk. 

Almost all men believe that right shall ultimately 
triumph, but why do they not act up to this conviction? Be- 
cause they are either thoughtless or selfish. 

The world may owe you a living, but the nobility 
that you owe the world is a greater debt and will forbid you 
taking your due. 

More great poems are lived than written. 

The man who works not with either body or brain 
is a curse. He is a very devil, robbing himself, mankind, and 
God. 

The human heart must overflow when great grief 
or joy comes, or else, perhaps unconsciously, suffer physically. 

The mysterious is always the most fascinating. 

Most people can bear blame from enemies, but few 
can withstand flattery from friends. 

Love is a paradox: beginning with regard for one, it 
is not diminished but greatly increased by being allowed to 
overflow on others. 

With the exception of love, its mother, nothing ter- 
restrial satisfies a man so completely as to have a woman 
whom he likes jealous of him! 

A verbal promise is as binding morally as a written 
promise is legally. 

Make a distinction between inherited and acquired 
nobility. The one we deserve no credit for, the other we 
deserve all credit for. 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Unapplied wisdom is like pearls in the sea. 

No act is negative; it is either good or bad. 

The rule, Silence is golden, is generally true, but 
there are many times when silence is dishonoring. 

Throughout Nature, as we know her, nothing is 
lost: apparently destroyed, the object has simply assumed 
another form. So it is in the moral world: good deeds, bad 
words, all leave ineffaceable impressions. 

All persons displease me in some way; shall I, 
therefore, refuse to love them? Nay; I should rather exert 
myself to love them so much for the good that is in them 
that my thoughts of their good qualities shall outweigh my 
thoughts of their bad ones. 

The highest joys are inseparable from the greatest 
griefs, and whether or no both shall affect us for good de- 
pends on ourself. 

He who never believes the simple statements of 
others cannot expect to be ever believed himself. 

The heart that beats strongest for suffering man 
is the heart best capable of loving God. 

Wisdom is one of the few good things which some- 
times comes to man unsought. 

True greatness is tolerant of others' scrutiny; the 
mean soul cannot bear investigation. 

A man proud without reason is a most detestable 
creature; proud with reason he is allowable, but negative. 

The man who is humble enough to acknowledge 
that others' opinions are sometimes better than his own is 
wise enough to be seldom wrong. 

Good blesses the doer of it more than the receiver. 

When nobody has anything to say against me, let 
me die! 

The soul's instinct must be the decider of what is 
right and what is wrong, but as every soul is more or less 
imperfect, it follows that men will always differ in their 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



judgment. We have no absolute standard of perfection, or, 
rather, we are not able to either see perfection or agree on a 
definition of it. 

The same qualities precisely are in all men, but not in 
equal proportions. 

Men break promises made to a multitude when they 
keep those made to one person, but in other matters 
they honor the mass even when they despise every individual 
man in it. 

Probably thought is as substantial to a spirit as 
material things are to the body. 

Our joys may cease and we are sad for a time; but 
when hope ceases neither the past nor the present can 
please us. 

It should be our aim not to keep the Sabbath holier 
than the other days, but to make all the days as holy as the 
Sabbath. 

Paralysis of the soul is the worst disease on earth, 
and the most common. 

Love curves on itself and rewards the lover more 
than the beloved. 

Society and solitude are of equal necessity. In 
society we receive: in solitude we digest. But ah, blessed 
are we if in solitude we can both receive and digest. 

Despair is the illegitimate child of Misfortune and 
Weakness. 

Our life is a cloud, hiding the sky of eternity. 

When truths seem not to harmonize be sure a link, 
a third truth, connecting the two others, is missing. Truths 
must necessarily harmonize, but our imperfect knowledge 
raises confusion. 

Which is harder, to see the evil in the persons we 
like, or to see the good in those we do not like? 

Life forms the body, — and then is subject to it! 



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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



If we were as afraid of being wrong as we are of 
being serious, we would be so serious that we would not be 
so often wrong. 

Eternity is not prolonged time, but a state. 

The wise man knows .the fool for a fool, but the 
fool can never know the wise man for a wise man, or he 
would be wise himself. The greater may include the less and 
still be great, but the part is never more than a part. 

Each man is necessarily the standard, in one sense, 
by which he measures all else, both man and matter. 

If we did as well as we know, we would soon be perfect. 

Progress self-evidently involves life, and life is, we 
may say, the growing principle. Now bodily life of all 
kinds feeds on material lower than itself, but soul-life feeds 
on principles, or life, higher than itself. 

Many persons' externals are more beautiful than 
they themselves, as, face and manners, but persons inwardly 
beautiful are usually beautiful in externals also. 

The peace of life is a totally different thing from 
the peace of death. 

Things which we absolutely know but which, from 
the nature of the case, are not provable to others and which 
we will not explain, most people will neither believe nor for- 
give us for affirming. 

The highest compliment that can be paid to a woman 
is to treat her as a man should be treated; that is, frankly 
and honestly, with the utmost courtesy and purity. 

We judge ourselves by what we do, that is, the 
good; we judge others by their omission of the good, that is, 
their sins. 

The hypocrite is never so near exposure as when 
his righteousness is called into question; no one shall ques- 
tion his righteousness. 

The worst form of conceit is that springing from humility. 



86 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



The pain in ecstasy of feeling is caused by the in- 
ability of the body to keep pace with the unusual demands 
of the soul. 

Senses, or the sense, may be right, spirit is right. 
Sense involves a mixture of evil with good; spirit is wholly 
pure. 

The worst hunger is that of the heart, for love: thd 
worst satiety is that of the heart, being obliged, through not 
finding any one to love, to expend all its love-wealth on itself. 

I wish to fear nothing that I know of but fear. 

Instinct is the sun, reason the moon. 

The fear of intruding is often a great discourtesy: 
friends must not act like acquaintances. 

Reason is confined to the earth, spirit, or intuition, 
is unconfined. 

We should prepare for death? Not so: we should 
prepare for something more solemn — Life. 

Irreverence for the name of God is by no means the 
only form of profanity. Any good thing, — person, object, or 
idea, may be profaned. 

There are two classes of people to whom we reveal 
ourselves; our friends, because they understand us, and a 
certain other class because — they are stupid. 

The more we love ourselves the more we please 
God: The less we love ourselves the more we please God. 
Both these statements are true. 

Perfect freedom of soul can never be obtained with- 
out first conforming perfectly to the natural needs of the 
body. 

The best friend distrusts himself more than he does 
his friend. 

If we with all the heart desired perfection, we 
should be perfect. The perfect desire and the attainment are 
identical. 

"Pain is a sign of life," but life need not be a sign of pain. 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Working as a fragment of the whole, a man may 
honorably accept any aid offered. Working selfishly, to ac- 
cept any aid is dishonorable. 

Labor may be dignified, but some men are com- 
pelled to be decidedly undignified in doing it. 

For a person who has never loved to try to under- 
stand it is like a blind person endeavoring to judge of the 
merits of a picture. He may handle it, and possibly gain 
some little impression of it through the finger tips, but — ! 

Excess of hope is despair. 

Intuition compels, reason advises. 

Men reverence the dead more than the living, and 
thus prove themselves fools. 

The real basis of all love, all friendship, all good-will, is 
reverence. 

The strength as well as the difficulty of renouncing 
is exactly proportioned to the intensity of the feeling present, 
if we but knew it. 

Affectation is the desire to appear different from 
what we are, but it is sometimes confused with the desire to 
develop and improve ourselves. 

Abstract truth has little influence over us; to draw 
us strongly it must be connected with something earthly. 

The more we lean on others the more capable we 
are of strengthening others. 

"The world is a chaos; life is a puzzle and a farce;" 
granted for the sake of the argument: perhaps it is thy sole 
business to bring some order into the world, and to solve 
life and make it serious by the dig^nity of thy actions. 

Is the darkness of the beyond worse than the folly 
of the past? Take heart, then, be brave and wise, using well 
thy materials, however poor they may be. 

Which prefer you to see, a symmetrical and hand- 
somely carved statue of wood, or an ugly one of ivory? If 
compelled to choose, which would you be? 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



What if all the rjinge of notes in sound that we can 
hear, from lowest bass to highest treble, should be but one 
note in the whole of music, — the middle C, say, fragmented 
for man! 

Knowledge is often more lamentable than ignor- 
ance, because used wrongly. Still, learn at any cost. 

We sometimes utter truths and yet are not able 
to explain how we come to say them, nor even to argue out 
our reasons for believing them. There is no disputing with 
the reasons of the soul, no proof outside of themselves. 

The home of the body is stationary; the home of 
the soul is everywhere, in all things, in the realm of the mind 
and the realm of the spirit. But some souls seem to have no 
home! 

This delight in the mysterious is the vague endeavor 
to find the purpose and soul which we instinctively feel to be 
in all, to which we are related. 

Love for one cannot be confined to that particular 
soul; it will overflow on our friends. This overflow is a test 
of love. 

By analyzing others we become harsh and unchari- 
table: by analyzing ourselves we become gentle and sym- 
pathetic. 

Hope must be for something definite, else it is not 
hope but uneasy longing. 

To give up one's rights is perhaps as often a sign 
of weakness as of strength. 

Both old age and youth make mistakes, old age 
from being too conservative, youth from being too radical, 
but if the world is to advance it is more necessary to be radi- 
cal than conservative. 

There are .three kinds of reserve, natural reserve or 
bashfulness, the reserve of purity, which shrinks from the 
touch of some persons, and the reserve of unworthiness or 
weakness, which wishes to appear better than it is. 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Actions are plain, but the motives being mixed or hidden 
entirely, we are more apt to judge wrongly than rightly. 

And we cannot rightly divide between the motives 
for our own actions, yet pass judgment on others' actions! 

The deepest love makes the greatest mistakes. 

Just as we may apprehend Divinity but not com- 
prehend it, so must we apprehend that others may be right, 
whether we can justify their deeds or not. What is wrong to 
one person may be perfectly right to another. 

If any one thing more than another proves the 
nobility of man it is that 'tis easier to love than to hate. 

We might live in perpetual silence without losing 
very much, but no one can live in a perpetual round of words 
without losing very, very much. 

Insults are unconscious tributes to superiority. 

Hope is the fountain of life, renewing us daily from 
the immortalities of perfection. 

Evil apprehends good but cannot comprehend it: 
good both apprehends and comprehends evil. 

Earthly evil may be wholly evil, but no earthly good 
is unalloyed. 

Both the fanatic and the true man say, "Pursue 
Truth, at any cost," but the fanatic looks only at the end, 
the true man considers the means also. 

"To thine own self be true;" truly, the most difficult 
thing in the world. 

If the head comprehends, we may still converse, 
whether the heart comprehend or not, but when neither heart 
nor head understand, conversation ceases. 

What we receive is almost exactly proportioned to 
what we first give or are willing to give. 

To truly learn from experience, the rules we can 
draw from one experience must be applied to other things. 
Few people do this, and thus many never learn from 
experience. 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



To always decide slowly is folly: *to always decide 
quickly is much worse folly. 

Foolishly saved means foolishly spent. 

Silence and tears are the only things that can ex- 
press extreme joy as well as extreme grief. 

Fate deals the cards, and fate may decree that we 
lose; but we may make many mistakes in playing them, and 
our mistakes are worse than anything done by fate. 

Pain should be to us not as a hornet but as a bee: 
both sting, but from the bee we receive honey also. 

Man may develop himself into the greatest thing 
or the smallest thing on earth. 

Does the builder question the bricks as to whether 
they would rather be near the bottom of the wall or the top, 
on the inside or the outside? They all have their places, 
and each place is important. Who knows how greatly he is 
needed in the world, or what a crime it would be to remove 
himself? 

If man trembled as much over his sins as he does 
over the future, he would have less reason to dread anything 
the future might bring. 

Do nothing of which you would be ashamed to have 
the world know. 

Men honor men when they do not honor God, but 
they cannot honor God without honoring men. 

Body wavers, soul is steadfast; body needs change, 
soul needs no change: body asks proof: soul needs no proof: 
body doubts, soul believes. 

Soul can teach reason, but reason cannot teach soul. 
Soul is at once plaintiff and defendant, lawyer and witness, 
judge and sheriff. 

The bad usually improve on acquaintance; the good 
sometimes lose. 

We should instruct ourselves, not others, or, at 
least, ourselves first, then others through us. 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Beauty must contain truth, or 'tis not beauty. As 
well try to find the rose's perfume independent of the rose as 
to expect beauty to be independent of the truth. 

We win our friends more through their nobleness 
than our own. 

Simplicity is one of the most necessary and profound 
studies of life. 

Sincerity always demands and receives respect, but 
not sincerity nor frankness nor strength combined are 
able to root a fact in another man. Truth must first be pres- 
ent to some extent, then these aids-de-camp may assist. 

Words are but the body of thought, and like our 
earthly body cannot be fully controlled; nor do they exactly 
express us. 

Thou art dissatisfied because thy good acts are 
not admitted as such, not even seen? The greatest buildings 
have the deepest foundations; many stones have to be hidden, 
and who can say but your acts are as necessary, nay, more so, 
than many others, to some building too large for our eyes to 
measure? 

Great men seek simplicity in thoughts, in words, 
in illustrations, and are greatly fundamental. Small men seek 
greatness as if it were a fact in itself, and not a great com- 
bination of small things. 

Head-analysis and heart-feeling do not make a hap- 
pily-married couple. 

Looking for flowers without thorns is the most likely 
way of finding thorns without flowers. 

It is the duty of conscience not only to make action 
accord with present belief, but to guide the mind when it 
contemplates changing its beliefs. Beliefs change because 
the mind honestly seeks truth, but conscience, properly speak- 
ing, never changes. 

Grief finds no rest in rest, but only in action. 



92 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Many a person's most subtle thoughts and exquisite 
impressions are lost to himself and others because no one 
responds exactly to them, when if they did so respond other 
and wiser shades, from still more remote and delicate recesses 
of the mind, would come firmly forth, to the surprise and joy 
of both. 

The most valuable silence is that which is judiciously 
used to punctuate and accentuate speech with. 

Love is the force that unites, that harmonizes. Perfect 
love means perfect union. 

The individual is most himself when he becomes 
most universal. 

Only he who is perfect need never apologize. 

Half our ambition is caused by the faith of others in us. 

Those who object to any one's quoting frequently 
never say anything themselves worthy of being heard, much 
less quoted. 

Paradoxes are the most simple and yet profound 
expressions obtainable of truth. This is because they con- 
tain both sides of truth, or, I might say, they bring the poles 
of truth together. 

We may argue about duty, but not against it. 

It requires as much wisdom to be wisely stupid as to be 
simply wise. 

Some people are so very over-conscientious and so 
very obstinate that if they once get the idea into their head 
that something is wrong, if God himself should tell them that 
it is right I verily believe they would contradict Him. 

Be as wise and strong and as nearly perfect in every 
way as possible, or the time will inevitably come when you 
will falter or perhaps fail for lack of what you might have 
had, or should have been. 

God himself never puts on us more than we can 
bear, but he sometimes allows our fellow human-beings to put 
on us things which would be unbearable if He did not uphold 

93 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



us. But, O suffering heart, because He allows such things 
He will always uphold us. 

He who is sufficient for himself is the foolishest 
of the foolish or the wisest of the wise. 

Imagination oftener causes misery than happiness. 

Let us get what comfort we can from the thought 
that perhaps heaven will be inversely proportioned to all those 
sufferings of hell which have strayed to earth. 

He is the strongest of all strong men who can 
honestly smile at the grave of buried hope. 

The greatest sins committed, both intentionally and 
unintentionally, are done in the name of righteousness. 

The end of our acts is the end of eternity. 

In objective affairs the pleasure is in the pursuit 
and not in the attainment: in subjective affairs the pleasure 
is in the attainment, or the success. 

To say that we know nothing is much more untrue 
than to affirm that we know all things: the first statement is a 
complete falsity, the other contains a little truth, as no sane 
man is wholly devoid of knowledge. 

There is more hope of the man who has great vices 
than of him who has no great virtues. 

The only time when failure means more failure than 
gain is when we do not rise above it. 

Books bring priceless knowledge, but unless they 
develop us by throwing us more heavily back upon ourselves, 
we miss the greatest knowledge they can teach us. 

Almost anything, even fanaticism, is much more forgiv- 
able than flippancy. 

It should be a pleasure to admit, when we see it, 
that we have made a mistake or been at fault. — Not a pleasure 
in itself, of course, but because proof to ourself and evidence 
to others that our strife for purity is so sincere we will as 
freely condemn ourself, when occasion demands, as others. 

Revenge is the bastard child of Justice and Hate. 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Men are loved for nothing in particular, — without 
reason; they are disliked for one or two particular things, 
and with reason. 

Reticence means lack of thoughts and stupidity oftener 
than depth or self-control. 

The wise are oftener foolish than the foolish are wise. 

The fisherman who cares not to lose or risk his flies, 
catches nothing. 

More have repented speech than silence. 

Knowledge is to some a burden on the back, to others 
a carriage. 

The great see resemblances; the little see differences. 

In one of the churches in Rome there is an elab- 
orately painted ceiling which seems without beauty or har- 
mony of design unless viewed from one particular point; so 
the perplexing mosaic of life cannot be interpreted aright 
save from the standpoint of faith, — faith in God and the 
hereafter. 

Seeking pleasure for its own sake is like drinking 
brine to quench thirst. 

From one thing a genius unfolds the world. Most 
men cannot discover one thing from an entire world. 

Talent is voluntary concentration; genius is involun- 
tary concentration. 

Only small .things deserve argument; great things 
are above it. 

Stagnation is the result of not having known life: 
peace is the result of having lived, of having conquered. 

Harmony with God is the aim of this world, the one 
end of all religions. Our discords arise from the finiteness 
of our means. 

The genius reads others from a knowledge of him- 
self; the ordinary man reads himself by comparison with 
others. 

The chief business of life is to make distinctions. 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



"I forgive;" in what way dost thou forgive when 
thou art still influenced by the past? 

That friendship is very frail which thinks it neces- 
sary to always give presents in exchange for presents re- 
ceived. 

PASTELS. 

DUTY. 

All the men of the city, with one exception, are hasten- 
ing out to win or die on the plain below the city. The one 
solitary man remaining bids them be brave, and says, "Ye 
must do your duty." 

A woman who overhears him says, with a flash of her 
wavering, uncertain eyes, "You coward, why do you tell them 
to go but stay here yourself?" 

He turns to her slowly and replies, very gently and as 
though he saw her not, "It is their place to kill and be killed, 
it is my place to live and create." 

And the heavy tread of the departing men is confused 
and lost in the joyous song of a little bird in a cage just over 
their heads. 

A SAINT. 

She had involuntarily revealed to him her love, one hour 
when he was in great danger, and now he has had to write the 
decisive word. The letter lies before him, and with the face 
an angel of God might wear when on an errand of mercy 
he seals and directs it. He loves her, but duty calls, he 
fancies, and marriage is not for him. 

Is he an angel of God? 

She reads the letter, but she does not weep or moan. 
She is very calm, too calm, I think, for a human being in such 
agony. 

96 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



Then she says: "He is one of God's saints: may He for- 
give him." 

I pity her. Some of God's saints can be forgiven by only 
He Himself. 



IN THE SHADOV/. 

In the dark shadow of a church an old man is leaning 
against the ivy-covered wall and watching the worshipers as 
they leave. The light would dazzle him if he were in it, 
but he is in the shadow, in a very dark shadow, where these 
worshipers cannot see him and so where they cannot help him, 
of course. 

These worshipers are still gazing heavenward, so that 
they even stumble sometimes as they walk from church. 

(God's love, God's strengthening grace. — The wind blows, 
and it is very cold tonight.) 

Many miles has this man walked today, how many per- 
haps no one will ever know. He walks back and forth a little, 
in the shadow, of course, where no one looks. He walks 
slowly, and his arms are folded, but he does not stand as 
erect as a man should when he folds his arms. 

He watches the worshipers, and they are beautiful in his 
sight. He watches them, but not with envy nor anger, nor 
any other feeling that they would dislike to know; he simply 
watches them. 

(The love of woman, the love of babes, the love of lov- 
ing. — The snow falls thickly tonight; it will be deep by 
morning.) 

The last of the worshipers has passed from the light of 
the church to the light of the street, and the sexton also has 
left. 

The man stops walking and sits down. There is no 
place for him to sit but in the snow, and he sits in the snow. 

97 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



He drops his face in his hands and tries to recall some 
words his mother taught him, but it is cold, and he is very 
hungry. 

He sits there a long time and is very quiet. He cannot 
think, but he can still move, and after several trials he kneels 
down in the snow. He feels strong now, and speaks out loud, 
with a firm voice. 

I hear his words but I cannot write them. They are 
the words of a curse, a curse against God, and I shudder. 

God Himself may hear a prayer. 

After this the man is very still. I cannot see that he 
moves. 

(Music and flowers, peace and strength, man's love and 
God's love. — In heaven dwell God and strength and light; 
on earth man and weakness and darkness.) 



THE TURNING OF THE LEAF. 

The poet is saying to himself, "This is perfect." 

He is seated on a log just at the edge of a forest that 
slopes up the hill back of him. He is gazing over the fair 
valley below. A faint wind, warm, and fragrant with the 
smell of burning leaves, floats slowly past and brings mem- 
ories of his early youth. 

No man is near him, no sign of the imperfections of man 
mars the affirmative and perfect joy of living that causes 
him to involuntarily clasp his hands and murmur, "This is 
perfect." 

He is quite content; he feels no satiety, and no lack. 

He is at peace with all the earth, and with the unknown 
things beyond the earth. He thinks that not even the sum- 
mons of the angel of death could mar the tranquility of his 
feelings. Heaven? Heaven is not so very far away, surely, 
just the turn of the next leaf of this vast and symmetrical 

98 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



cosmos. Almost he feels that it has been -turned, so happy, 
so contented, is he. 

While he has been thinking, with half-shut eyes, a woman 
has come up from the valley. She stands some ways from 
him, and looks at him. Suddenly he sees her, and starts at 
once to his feet. 

The wind has turned the leaf over. 



THE MEASURE OF THE DRAUGHT OF LIFE. 

In one of the strange visions I had while on that short 
but marvelous journey among the many realms of space, I 
saw, in one vast space separate and dreary, an Angel who 
seemed very busy. I drew near him, and as I did so the tears 
slowly gathered in my eyes, but why I could not say. I 
paused in front of him and watched in silence as he kept 
steadily at work. I wished to know what he was doing, but 
did not care to speak lest my voice should break, so strongly 
did he or his work affect me. 

From a large mass of gray material on his right, and a 
much smaller mass, of the most dazzling colors, on his left, 
he was taking small portions and handing them, mixed, to 
attendants, who at once flew towards a small planet far, far 
off in the blue ether. 

From time to time he seemed ready to sink beneath some 
vast burden, but at such times a Voice was heard, a Voice 
that made me tremble and caused the Angel to shudder and 
resume his work. 

At last, very weary and very much troubled, I left him 
and followed one of those Angels who were flying towards the 
planet with the burdens of the dark and the light. Side by 
side we flew, and soon I was able to speak, but at that instant 
the Angel said to me, "I will tell you what you wish to ask. 
The Angel you saw measuring is undergoing his punishment 

99 



LofC. 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



for his life on that planet we are going to, a life spent in utter 
selfishness. His punishment is to mete out the joyous and the 
painful to the men of the earth, and, as you sav/, the bitter 
things of that life far outweigh the sweet things. Nay, ask 
me not why the men of that earth must be so unhappy; there 
is but One in all the universe who can answer you that. 

"Frequently the most worthy of that people receive the 
largest burdens of the gray, and but little of the beautiful. 
Their days are passed in hope and misery mixed, and no man 
can sit down with joy and know that he shall rise with 
peace. When we carry to some mortal more of the beautiful 
than the dark, we know that he may be the chiefest sinner 
among them, and are sadder than when carrying burdens to 
the pure and the meek. 

"My own punishment, also, is this of continually being the 
messenger of trouble and death always, and sometimes pleas- 
ure, though there is a worse fate than mine: there are some 
— but these are very strong and very wicked — who carry 
the gift of life." 

And as the Angel-swept onward alone, I said to my tears 
as they fell, "Life, and sorrow, and death: yea, fall fast, 
O tears, fall fast, if ye would keep pace with the way of the 
world." 

IN THE NIGHT. 

Buddhistic. 

Richly carved is the bedstead, heavy and finely wrought 
the hangings surrounding it, while the other things seem well 
adapted to make any one happy who is so favored of the 
gods as to be laid thereon. Yet this woman, who can be dimly 
seen through the canopy, must be a strange creature. She is 
asleep, and one should be at peace, we think, when asleep, 
if at no other time. But see the muscles of her face, do 
they not twitch with pain, or at least unrest? And does not 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



her entire body seem to slowly move from side to side on 
that luxurious bed? Truly she is in pain, because now the 
tears are coming, slowly forced out from under the eyelids. 
Steadily they flow, at first dropping one by one from the 
cheek, at last running down the cheek to the pure, white 
neck. 

Can she not weep enough in the daytime, without marring 
the holy calm of the night? But hush! — maybe it is never day- 
time with her; there have been such, from the time when 
God and Satan both said, "It is very good." 

Silently, steadily, still they flow. But ah, relief is surely 
near; an Angel has been sent on an errand of mercy, and 
leans tenderly over the poor human. He will whisper to her 
words of comfort and strength, words, I think, of mysterious 
origin, since that wretched earth could never supply them, 
probably they are from Heaven. 

God have mercy, what a shriek that was! From her, 
HER, did it come, that long horrible wail? May the great 
Love surround her! Was she deaf, then, or did the Angel's 
words but wring her heart the more? 

The Angel has gone; perhaps he can be of service in 
Heaven, since there is no place for him on earth. 

Let us go. She could neither see the Angel, nor hear him, 
and we cannot help her. She must sleep on as best she can, 
alone, and blind, and deaf, cursed with the life of that planet. 

Let us return to our own sphere, and be glad that what 
those beings call joy and pain can never invade our Nirvana. 

THE OUTCAST. 

Poor, pitiable creature! In rags, with bowed head and 
shame-faced walk, she stops me on the street and says, 
"Come with me." 

Passersby, for though it is nearly midnight the city is still 
alive, eye us curiously and smile. I cannot yield to her 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



request, but I want to help her, to think of some plan by 
which she can earn an honest living. Ignorant, doubtless, 
and unskilled, what can she do? I look closely for signs of 
potential power and beauty of soul, but she is far from her 
childhood's grace, and her will has been weakened. I must 
pass on. 

As I move away, she stands still, and looks at me. Her 
eyes do not blaze, she is not angry, but there is something 
in them that detains me. 

She is my sister, if I am a man, she is a child born in 
His likeness, and can I leave her alone in her sin, ignorant 
and blind? If I have wisdom and light will they remain if 
unused? Am I better than she if I pass by on the other side? 
I, born in purity and bred like a human being, have still 
cursed God in the insanity of grief; I, strong, and having had 
converse with God, have still known the time when daily for 
years I heve prayed for death, and all but laid down the bur- 
den of life. She, a woman, weak and alone, what know I of 
her birth and life? Dare I condemn her? Am I God? 

She lays a hand on my arm and whispers, "Help me: 
I am starving." 

I take her hand in mine and say, "My unknown sister, 
come with me. My need would be as great as yours if I did 
not help you. Come." 

She looks doubtful at first, but finally gives me her arm 
and walks by my side. 

There is a woman I know who can give her bread, and 
bread. To her we will go, and perhaps in the years to come 
this poor animal will learn a human being's capacity for 
communion with God, her Father and Mother. 

LOST. 

The room is darkened, and the hush of a Mighty Spirit, 
the Spirit of the Future, envelopes the room, seeming to rise 
from the silent form on the bed, the form of a woman. 

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A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



In one corner and facing the bed sits a man, motionless, 
save for a barely perceptible swaying movement of the body, 
a man with dreamy eyes and a voluptuous chin. He seems in 
thought, and stares with large, steady eyes at the Spirit of the 
Future, which takes the shape, in his mind, of a black moon 
floating in space. 

The door opens, and some one, a man, enters. He enters 
slowly, as though in doubt, but as he sees the man in the 
chair looking steadily at Something and making no motion, 
he advances rapidly and touches him on the shoulder. His act 
does not seem to be noticed. 

The guardian of the law waits and speaks one word; 
he says, "Come." There is no reply, and again he touches 
the man, placing himself, as he does so, between him and the 
bed on which lies the form of the woman. The man in the 
chair slowly looks up, and acts as if he had lost something. 
He feels himself grasped roughly by the hand, and led toward 
the door. At the door his hands are placed against each other, 
in front of him, and bound together. He does not resist, he 
does not speak; perhaps he does not think. He is led away. 

And why is he led away? 

Out of love for a woman two men met under the oaks 
at the rising of the sun, and the door of the soul of one of 
them had in a flash been opened, and the other had smiled for 
joy. But his joy changed when he told the woman, for she 
looked at him, and then fell to the ground. 

Now they are together, and he is alone. 



"IF YOU LOVE ME, LEAN HARD." 

They two had been walking in a valley all the day, one 
sometimes in front of the other, again side by side; they 
had laughed much, and had paid little attention to the uses 
of the various articles they noticed, but spoke of their great 

103 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



variety and curious appearance. The path had been level, 
winding in and out among fields and woods and along gently- 
flowing streams, and their most serious occupation had been 
twining strings of flowers to swing between them. When they 
pulled too hard and broke the string they wept and tried to 
blame each other, but they always made another string and 
said, "This one will last longer." 

As night closed in the path slowly wound upward among 
the hills. The streams of water grew shallower, and the oaks, 
with their lines of beauty, were exchanged for an occasional 
stiff and thin-branching pine. The flowers also were not 
so easily made into chains and soon they reluctantly cast 
aside their last connecting flower-link, which they had held 
till it almost dropped to pieces in their hands. 

Rapidly the path ascended. Below, the valley could easily 
be seen in all its wealth of woods and brooks and even 
flowers, and it seemed at each step that the remembrance of 
their first careless hours grew more sweet. Above, a cold, 
tenebrous fog obscured all, and they alternately laughed and 
shivered in the darkness. 

They pressed onward. Indeed, they could not stop, 
much less turn backward and live again in the sunny valley. 
They drew near each other and the hand of each sought the 
hand of the other. The path grew steeper, and very rough, 
and very dangerous. Not so many words were spoken now, 
for strength was much needed, but the words they spoke were 
thoughtful and sincere. Each had to look well where he 
stepped, but they would sometimes stumble and cry out in 
pain, and the pain, once felt, stayed ever. 

Then each grasped the other's hand closer and said, 
"Will you not lean on me a little? " But although each said 
it earnestly neither one would burden the other with his 
thoughts, and for a time they endured silently. 

When the moon came up they were almost sorry, for 
although they could see each other more clearly the emicant 

104 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



rays served mainly to reveal the pain they could but show in 
their faces. At last, by degrees, they talked over their trials, 
and as love saw that in dismissing sympathy from self and 
trying to save the beloved sorrow, they lost sympathy and 
gained but little, and because love will not be satisfied to bur- 
den others yet share no burdens, each cried as with one 
mind, "Lean more heavily on me." 

And they were surprised to find that as each one shared 
the other's troubles his own troubles grew less weighty. 
As this dawned on them they tried to reason it out but could 
not do so. When they fully realized this most wonderful 
paradox of love, the cry of each came from the heart, "If 
you love me, lean hard." 

And then and not till then they regained all the beauty 
of the happy valley-hours, with added sweetness and depth. 



SERAPHAEL AND SERAPHITA. 

Drawn together by the principle of mutual affinity, 
Seraphael and Seraphita thought but of each other and with- 
drew themselves from among the other angels in Heaven. 

With greater lavishness than this world can conceive 
had God endowed them with spiritual graces, and in silent 
and perfect adoration each had acknowledged his debt and 
his happiness until they met each other. Even then, by their 
almost infinite strength and wisdom they had refrained from 
all selfishness, and without consciousness of refraining, for 
what would be, if measured by the measure bound in the 
mind of man, thousands upon thousands of cycles, and for 
many more cycles, innumerable cycles, they had fought 
selfishness. 

There came a time when they conquered the shadow of 
evil which hung over them, and then rang intensely through 
all Heaven's souls the reverberations of renewed love for the 
great Source of Love. 

105 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



At this time Seraphael and Seraphita might have been 
relieved from all danger of again committing the same error, 
but they did not choose to accept such freedom. They were 
stronger now, they were wiser now, they were purer than they 
had been. 

But once more the self in each sought the other too 
strongly, once more the joy they derived from each other 
blinded them to the presence of the Supreme Source of 
Joy. They forgot that the light they so adored in each other 
was bestowed on them by the Essence of Light, when He 
called them forth from the Infinite and gave them names, 
and lo! they were! 

Surrounded by the Light Himself, they were yet in 
darkness unless near each other. 

Then God spake. 

When they heard His voice they were afraid. They 
turned themselves to listen. 

God spake, and they heard His words. 

"Because you have forgotten God while in Heaven, you 
shall struggle to remember Him while in a new place, — strug- 
gle endlessly, and well-nigh in vain. 

"Because the Light of the Absolute was no light to you, 
you shall seek the Light with many tears, troubled and 
doubting, and never agreeing between yourselves as to what 
is light and what is darkness. 

"Because you refused the perfection I gave you, you shall 
be tormented by the imperfections I now give you. 

"For wrapped in swaddling-bands you shall be, the dark 
bands of bodies of earth, narrow, and vile, and in every way 
unfit. Through these you shall re-learn the laws of Heaven, 
through these you shall procreate your kind, and the suffer- 
ings borne by your children shall be borne again by you be- 
fore you can regain Heaven. 

"You have desired each other more than you have desired 
me: take each other as fully as you can, and bless or curse 
yourselves as you will. 

106 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



"Go! I create a sphere for you, the Earth. If you seek 
me early, you shall find me. I will not leave you wholly, be- 
cause I cannot be unjust, but if you seek me, seek me through 
each other. Only thus, by unselfishness, shall your crime of 
loving the part and not the Whole, be blotted out." 

In this manner sinned the two Angels, Seraphael and 
Seraphita, whom we call Adam and Eve. 

THE DANCE. 

The musician is playing on his violin, and all who are 
within reach of the music are dancing. 

Out of their extreme joy they stumble against the musi- 
cian, and knock him down, and the music stops. While he 
is regaining his feet they jeer at him, and some curse him for 
his weakness. He does not reply. Again he plays and again 
they dance. 

He plays more ravishingly than before, because he is 
wounded, and because he cannot help doing his best. 

He does not dance himself, and when some one calls 
attention to it they all demand of him the reason. He gives 
them no reply, and they whisper among themselves. 

Although his eyes are shut he knows that they and he are 
drifting apart. But he holds his violin closer to him and plays 
with a wondrously calm strength: the tears fall, it is true, 
but only the strong can weep. 

His tears are not wiped away: he is too busy, and the 
others are dancing. 

Suddenly, in the very height of a passionate outburst of 
melody, such as makes even the dancers themselves almost 
too happy to move, there falls silence. One of the dancers 
shouts roughly to the musician, and, as a most excellent jest, 
pinches the eyelids of the prostrate man and raises them. 
Horror-stricken he turns to his fellows and tries to speak, 
but no words issue from his lips. 

107 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



The crov/d gather around, and are silent. Some of them 
are soon ashamed to be so quiet, and turn away to dance as 
well as they can. The others, as with one consent, gently 
raise the body and bear it to a quiet place. 

They move slowly and reverently, because he is dead, 
and they are for a few moments even a little less rough than 
usual with one another. 

Then they buy a stone, not a very costly one, but at least 
of more value than aught owned by the musician before, and 
they carve on it holy words, words of life, such as never 
came to his ears while alive. 

Then they sit down and weep, because they would dance 
and there is no music. 



THE HOUSE OF ANNIHILATION. 

White shapes hover pityingly around this man and moan 
with ruth for him. He lies face downward on a vermeil cloud 
kindly stretched between him and the waters by the minister- 
ing shapes, a cloud woven of peace and strength. 

The black rays of light from above are let from descend- 
ing on him, and the yawning, turgid whirlpool of death be- 
neath, which cries horribly for him also is thwarted: angels 
gather in their bosoms the rays and mantle him in a vacuum 
against the cries. Yet maugre all their care the soul shivers 
and shrinks. A vision, too large and too black for them to 
relieve, a tangible vision within himself, is the cause. Alone 
he thinks himself, but if he were — if he were that vision 
would draw around him with the irresistible sweep of death. 
The vision affects the heavenly angels, though they do not 
see it. They are fresh from God, but the seer is mortal. 

It is a vision of life without love. 

Motionless, the soul is swallowed up by the darkness 
of life, enveloped, powerless, bound by a veil wrought on the 

108 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



loom of outer blackness. No words destroy his sight of the 
vision, no thoughts sail between him and that open grave: 
silence speaks despair. 

The angels grow weak from long vigils and call to God, 
near eternity's term, for strength or wisdom. Their leader 
listens, then breathes, "It is enough." He directs their flight 
and they slowly bear the heavy burden of that soul to a house 
builded by God between heaven and hell, a house founded on 
love and composed of infinite mercy. They bear him thither 
gently, and then sing duans of joy to God for having provided 
the House of Annihilation. 

THROUGH MEN. 

A woman is in much pain of spirit. Affliction the hardest 
has visited her, and her heart is cold and hard. She is too 
indifferent to man to hate him, but against God her hate 
revels in curses; He has laughed at her. He has tempted 
her, He has robbed her of joy, even the joy of hope. 

After a time she slowly and steadily takes a bottle in her 
hand. Nothing in the Beyond can be worse, and her death 
will be an excellent revenge, an excellent joke, against Him 
who wants her to live. 

A man who does not know her — does not even know her 
name, but who saw her face yesterday, is praying for her. 
His sympathy is so deep it reaches the fountain of tears 
and they fall — not to the ground but — into my brother's 
hand, my angel-brother, who changes them by our Heavenly 
alchemy into thoughts of wisdom and love and peace, in which 
form the angel carries them to the woman. She listens, and is 
recalled. She puts down the bottle, and with a great sob 
falls to her knees. 

This is no place for me or any other angel; I withdraw. 
The work God gave me to do has been done and done by a 
human in a better way. 

109 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



THE PASSING OF A MAN'S SOUL. 

A man sat by a darkened window, intent on his work, 
which must be done or the body would perish. 

"Father," came a child's voice from an inner room, 
"father will you not take me out to see the procession now?" 

The man, who sat by the window but never looked out, 
kept his eyes down on his work and replied, "Time enough, 
child, time enough." 

Outside, moment after moment and hour after hour the 
eternal procession of glorious but idle angels sped on. The 
man could not see them. He heard a confused murmur of 
voices, and felt irritated at them and at his work, but did not 
feel the need of an interpreter. 

"Father," came the delicate voice again, "father, it is 
very dark here, and I hear voices calling me, calling me; will 
you not open the door? " 

"Time enough, child, time enough," and the man's work 
went on. 

There was silence for a long time. After a while a 
faint sigh was heard. The man bent his head to listen and 
opened his lips to say, "Time enough, child," but this time 
no words came to his ears. He went on with his work. 

He thought he was relieved, (his work went steadily on,) 
and after awhile forgot that he had ever heard a sound from 
the inner room. 

The eternal procession of glorious but idle angels sped 
on and in Heaven the watchers whispered one to another, 
"It was but six months old, when it should have been nine; 
will it live?" 



110 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



THE UNBUILT TEMPLE. 

An angel appears to a young man in his sleep: — 

"If thou treadest watchfully the path of thy life, young 
man, in the days to come it shall be thy privilege to build a 
mighty temple, and this temple shall be called great and 
wonderful by all thy fellows, so exceeding mighty shall it be. 
See thou value rightly the great things and the small things 
of earth, and build thy temple so grandly that even thine 
enemies shall have to say, 'He is great!"* 

The angel vanishes and the man awakes and muses. 

"This thing is from above! I will dwell carefully upon it, 
and read well the words of the wise one. Let me be very 
strong and very patient. Shall I, bom to do some great deed 
or utter some divine law, presume to run the risk of missing 
my duty because occupied with trifles? I will not waste 
myself on trifles and dissipate my strength before this great 
thing faces me, but I will sit down and wait for it, and when 
it comes it shall find me fully prepared. This is surely the 
wisest way, to be always ready for the performance of my 
great duty." 

The years pass slowly, and the young man sits and 
watches very keenly for a sign. But the years pass and the 
sign comes not. The years pass and bring the hour of 
death, when the angel appears again. 

"Accursed art thou, in that thou hast not performed that 
wonderful deed I foretold thee it should be thy privilege to 
do." 

With sorrow and with anger the old man raises his 
head. 

"Is it my sin that I could not do what was not to be 
done? I watched and waited and prayed, and crushed life's 
pleasures, and sat very still, but there was no great deed for 
me to do, no wise word for me to speak. Is it my sin?" 



Ill 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



The face of the angel grows dark, and his voice becomes 
like unto the undertone of the sea. 

"Yea, it is thy sin. 

"The great deed thou didst miss would have been made 
up of the little things that thou didst choose to pass by. 

"What more shall I say? 

"Thou hast sinned, yea, thou hast sinned, because thou 
didst not see the greatness of trifles, nor remember that 
what thou didst call 'little things' might be built by thee into 
a noble temple." 

The old man bows his head and is silent, because the 
years come and the years pass and not for small things nor 
for great things may the years turn backward. 



THE WORSHIPERS. 

Now it came to pass in the still night watches, when my 
body was asleep, that my soul dreamed a dream. 

And in my dream I heard a voice say, "Unstop his ears 
that he may hear." 

And I became aware of the presence of an Angel, and he 
touched mine ears, saying, "When thou hearest a sound, a 
great sound, as of many mighty waters rushing headlong, 
listen and fear nothing." 

Then verily did burst on my hearing a mighty noise, a 
most discordant frush, and I stretched out my hand to the 
Angel, who said, "Fear not! Now tell me what thou hearest." 

After pondering a long time I turned me to the Angel and 
said, "This discordant sound is that of many and diverse peti- 
tions, of which some are directed to the Eternal but more 
to the Spirit of Evil. I further perceive that well nigh each 
and every voice thinks its own tone the right and the only right 
tone, and some few voices there be which desire all the others 
destroyed. Yet I hear faintly a few that are as pure and 

112 



A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE 



sweet as the voices of the morning stars when they sing 
together." 

And the Angel said, "These are all the voices of the 
religions, the sects, the churches, and the individual hearts, 
upon your planet. They are many in number. They are 
wondrously many in number. Yet, the understanding of your 
little heart is darkened: none of these petitions are directed to 
the Spirit of Evil, though only God and we know the heart 
of man, and the love of only God is great enough to forgive 
your many strange desires. Those few and sweet voices — 
ah! those few sweet voices redeem — redeem the world!" 

As I listened again to the strange murmur I wept, and 
cried saying, "Would that these voices were as one!" 

And the Angel answered and said, "They will be when 
in that state you call 'Heaven.' " 

Then did my soul face eagerly the face of the Angel and 
say to him, "They will verily attain Heaven, then — all these 
many jangling voices?" 

Bending on me a wondering look he answered, "They 
will. All who strive for Right and Light shall be happy. 
Worship they not all as truly and deeply as they know? 
Strive they not all to love — to be unselfish, though some 
half-heartedly? From the north and the south, from the 
east and the west shall they be gathered, and there shall 
carilloux harmonies ascend to the Eternal, as from one sweet 
and glorified tongue." 

And as I listened again I sighed and said, "God is very 
patient." 

"God is very patient. He is Love, and His ways are past 
finding out," murmured the Angel. 

Again he touched mine ears saying, "Have you learned? 
Go, return to earth, and live in the spirit of Love. Love, and 
judge not. Love, and be very charitable, for you yourself 
jar en Heaven's peace." 

And I awoke, and beheld the impartial sun. 

113 



fe'<Ent>oi. 

(Boob nig^f ! 3 cPoBe i^t Booft, mg faeft ai enb, 

^ae fifffe aff f^(xi fvitn^B^ip'B faif3 mag bo : 
^^g (Poice 6ciB B^)o8en from i^t Sifence, f rienb , 
(^^xb not» 3 ^jauBtng, t»onber . . . "if ^t ftnetw 
3f matters nof . (Keef fiff f 3e (JWorntng &ig6^ 
^0aff uummon . . . fiofifg . . . fio . . . (Boob rttig^^ ! 
6oob Qtis3( ! 

-3nci CoofBrifa. 



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UBRABY OF CONGRESS ^;:; 






MtlJ^JlKlUI-ili 



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